


And a wall between us

by yu_gin



Series: Across the sea, under the same sky [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Books as a Metaphor for Love, Featuring 2014 London, Food as a Metaphor for Love, M/M, Slow Burn, featuring: il pacco da giù, like the ragù, mention of internalized homophobia, mentions of racism and islamophobia, nicky is the average Italian student abroad, smoking as a coping mechanism, there are a lot of metaphors and a lot of love, which is bad don't smoke kids, which means pre-Brexit because yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26715772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yu_gin/pseuds/yu_gin
Summary: This is the story of Yusuf’s first year in London.This is the story of how he moved to an apartment where he met a bunch of weirdos that soon he started to call “family”. This is the story of how he learned to love himself and to accept the love he deserved.This is the story of how Yusuf met Nicky.And how he became his Nicolò.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, mention of Booker/Booker's Wife, mentions of Nicolò/Original Male Character, mentions of Yusuf/Original Male Character
Series: Across the sea, under the same sky [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003065
Comments: 133
Kudos: 347





	1. Unorthodox

**Author's Note:**

> Some small notes.  
> This fan fiction is set in London in 2014, and it features characters coming from different countries, speaking different languages, having different religions and cultures.  
> To write this fan fiction I made my researches but, as you may know, the internet is not always reliable. I have never lived in London or the UK. I have never lived in Tunisia and I am not an expert on the traditions and culture of this country. I double-checked everything online and I tried to be respectful. If you spot anything that could be wrong or offensive, please let me know in the comments, or contact me on Tumblr. I'm always willing to learn.
> 
> My TOG related Tumblr is immortal-family (my main one is applepie4, so I may follow back from there)
> 
> I plan to keep the updates once per week, unless real life is a bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yusuf meets Nicky

**Monday**

  
  


Yusuf holds the piece of paper and stares at it, once again, checking the address for the last time. Then, he peeks at his watch. He’s perfectly on time and the address is correct. He takes a deep breath and thinks _it’s a new beginning, Yusuf, it’s gonna be fine._ Then he knocks.

He waits nervously while he can hear the sound of hurried steps behind the door and, on top of that, someone swearing in french. The door opens in front of him to reveal a tall blond guy, presumably, the one who swore, a few seconds ago.

«You must be Joe,» he says. He’s wearing a khaki shirt open on the chest and his belt is hanging sloppily around his waist.

«And you must be Sébastien.»

«Indeed, but you can call me Booker, as everyone does. Please, come in.» He moves from the threshold and leads Yusuf inside, closing the door behind him. «You said that you were looking for a room.» The guy speaks good English, but Yusuf can immediately tell that he’s not a native speaker. And, judging by the _Putâin_ that he heard before, he’s probably French.

«Yeah, I saw your ad at the faculty. I talked with the owner on the phone and she already explained to me the general rules and sent a copy of the contract.»

«I’m so glad you called. We were left with an empty room in the middle of the year and we didn’t know what to do. It’s not easy to find new students in March.»

«Same goes for me,» he says. He looks around, trying to figure the guy in front of him from the small details of the room. He notices a t-shirt of a football team, a line of empty mugs stained by coffee, and a pile of books. He walks closer to read the titles: most of them are in french, probably Sébastien’s – which may be the reason for his weird nickname. But then, at the bottom of the pile, he notices a Bible. He freezes for a moment. «What happened to the guy who was here before me?» he asks, cautiously.

«Ah, Lykon.» There is a note of bitterness in the way he pronounces that name. «He had to go back home. His mom was sick and he couldn’t bear the idea of being far from his family. He was a nice guy and Nicky and I hoped that he would come back after− I mean, this is the reason why we waited one month before looking for a new housemate. He was a great guy.» He bits his lips and then he quickly adds: «But I’m glad we found you. Let me show you your room.»

Yusuf follows Seba− _Booker_ into what will – hopefully – become his room. The place is small and simple: a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a small empty shelf. That’s all he needs. «You said “Nicky and I”. Is he the third guy?»

«Yes, Nicky has the room next to yours,» he says, pointing at the wall behind the bed. «He’s not here this afternoon. But you don’t have to worry about him. He’s a little weirdo, but he’s nice.»

«Yeah, listen, I want to be completely honest with you,» he says, while his heart hammers in his chest. _Tell him. Better sooner than later._ «I am Muslim. If you have issues with this just tell me now, because that’s something that is not gonna change any time soon and I lost enough of my time dealing with racists.»

Booker stares at him, seriously, and for a moment Yusuf thinks that he will have to leave that house and go back to his old room, and see again those people, bear their stares, their insults murmured behind the walls.

«Man, I’m totally fine. If you keep the kitchen and the bathroom clean, that’s enough for me.»

«I couldn’t help but notice a Bible, near the couch, with what I assume were your books.»

«Oh, that Bible. No, that’s not mine. That is Nicky’s.»

«Is he-?»

«He is Catholic but I swear to you, he’s fine.»

Yusuf bits his lips. «I’m sorry if I insist, but I had problems with my previous flatmates. They also said that they were fine, that it was not a problem but then things became… difficult. They started as innocent jokes and then they were less innocent. And then they started complaining if I was praying and then-» He stops. «I don’t want to go through that again.»

«Listen, I’m sorry for what happened. I don’t care about religion, I was raised a Christian but I lost my faith a long time ago. And Nicky… as I said, he’s weird, but he’s nice. He’s the kindest guy I’ve ever met. It’s true, he’s a believer but his faith is very personal. He would never bother you.»

Yusuf feels relieved but at the same time, he remembers the words of his flatmates, when he had the same kind of discussion with them. And seeing how it went, he doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice. «I need to move out of that house as soon as possible. I have to trust your word.»

«Look, Joe, if there’s a person I could guarantee for, that is Nicky.»

«Okay,» he murmurs. «Are there any rules that I should know?»

«You already talked with the owner, so you know that she is pretty relaxed. We take turns to clean the bathroom, while the general rule for the kitchen is ‘you cook, you clean’. Parties on the weekdays must finish at eleven while during the weekend we can go on until one. You can have girls to stay for the night, but it’s better if you tell us in advance.»

_Oh, here we go._

«Yeah, about that−» he says. «I’m… not into girls.»

Booker shrugs. «Boys, girls, it doesn’t matter. You just need to send us a message. We could agree on a signal, something like that. I just want to know if I could find a naked stranger in the shower the morning after.»

Yusuf finally lets himself smile, for the first time in weeks. «So, when can I sign the contract and move?»

«Well, since the situation in your old flat is not ideal, I can call the owner and we can manage to make you sign the contract this afternoon. For what it concerns me, tonight you can sleep here.»

«That… that would be great. Thank you.»

«No problem, man.»

Yusuf sighs in relief. _I won’t sleep in that house anymore. I won’t have to face those people again. I can start again. This time it will be different._

Those four walls already feel like a home, to him.

  
  


Booker keeps his word and that same afternoon Yusuf is able to sign the contract. The owner, an old lady that – judging by her age and her fashion choices – must have smoked more weed in her life than filled tax forms, repeats to him the rules of the house, and then immediately walks away, muttering something about a dinner with friends.

«As I said, she’s very relaxed,» says Booker, once they are again alone. «You can move your stuff to your new room. I will make you some space in the fridge and in the kitchen shelf. Tonight we have to celebrate! We could order Chinese and open some beers-» He freezes for a second. «You don’t drink, do you?»

Yusuf laughs: «I don’t drink alcohol, but I’m not gonna stop you. And Chinese food is fine.»

«Roger. Take your time to unpack, I’ll call you when the food arrives.»

Yusuf moves to his new room, throwing the backpack on the bed and the luggage on the floor. He looks around, lingering on the blank wall in front of him. He notices the shade of rectangular shapes, probably left by a framework or a poster, hung for a long time. He can’t help but wonder how that room could have been when it was occupied by the previous tenant, Lykon. He wonders if he covered the wall with posters of music bands or football players, or abstract paintings by some niche artist, or pictures of his favorite places. Close to the headboard of the bed, he notices the shade of a smaller rectangle, probably a photo. Of his family, he guesses.

His heart aches, for an instant, and the gloom creeps in his chest, like a shadow that snuggles between his lungs and makes it hard for him to breath. His mind goes to his room in Tunis, with the posters of the football players that he hung as a teen, and the reproduction of his favorite paintings right next to his personal sketches. He thinks about those lazy summer mornings when his mom used to come into his room and open the windows and the scent of the sea flood into his lungs.

If he opened the windows at that moment, only the smell of smog would creep in. His first year in London was not going as he expected. Sure, his classmates were nice and they shared many interests, but at the same time he struggled to call them ‘his friends’. He was feeling terribly alone. He misses his childhood friends and his home town. But, above anything and everything, he misses his family.

He starts to settle his clothes in the wardrobe and his books on the shelves. He didn’t bring much of his stuff from Tunis and, in hindsight, it was probably for the better. It made it easier for him to move out of that toxic house as quickly as possible. But at the same time, he wonders how would the white walls look covered with drawings and colors, if the room itself would look less aseptic, cozier. More like home.

 _Well_ _,_ he thinks, _we can arrange that, can’t we?_

When he hears the bell ringing and Booker calling him from the kitchen, he leaves his room to reach him. The table is already set and the boxes of Chinese food are waiting for them. He sits in front of Booker and realizes that he doesn’t know much about the guy that is going to be his flatmate for at least the rest of the year.

He studies his frowning expression and watches him opening his box and picking a dumpling with his sticks.

«So, Booker, you’re not from here, aren’t you?»

«Was it the accent or the name?» he asks, smiling.

« _Tous les deux_ » he answers, switching automatically to French, a language that, for him, is more familiar than English. And he continues: « _Plus, I heard you swearing in French when I first arrived._ »

« _I’m impressed, your French is flawless!_ » he comments, delighted to switch back to his mother tongue. « _I’m from Marseille and I’m doing my Bachelor in History, third year and after this, I will probably stay for my Master. What about you?_ »

«First year of Master in History of the Arts. I did my Bachelor in Tunis, which is my hometown. It was great, I was close to my family and my friends, but I felt like I needed a huge change.» Saying so, he can’t help but think about the endless discussions with his parents, their concerned voices, whispering in the kitchen. He remembers his mother kissing him, at the airport, holding his face and calling him _habibi_ and his father hugging him tightly.

«London surely is a huge change. After nearly three years I’m still not used to the British weather.»

«Not only the weather. It’s the soul of the city. Tunis was like» he takes a moment, looking for the correct words in French «it was like a quiet river. Sure, there is a current and this current can be strong and you can get carried away, but you always know where you’re going to end up. While here in London, sometimes you feel like you’re lost in the middle of the ocean, and you never know where the waves will drag you if you will end up in a foreign land or at the bottom of the sea.»

«Man, you surely know how to talk» he comments, genuinely impressed. «I get the feeling. These years in London have been… tough, to be honest.» His lips bend in a forced smile, but his eyes are somewhere else, probably in some lost alley in Marseille.

«Is someone waiting for you, at home?»

He shakes his head: «We lasted two years. I was flying home every time I could and she came to visit me often. But I started to be mean to her. I was stressed and I was wasting the little time he had together with my bitterness and my anger. I can’t blame her for dumping my ass.»

«I’m sorry,» he says. He can tell that Booker, despite his cocky attitude, was really in love with her.

Booker shrugs, opening a can of beer: «What about you? Is there someone sighing for you, back in Tunis?»

«Apart from my mom? No, no broken hearts left behind.»

«So you came to London as a free man. Any interesting meeting?»

Yusuf thinks about the few encounters he had during the year. Good looking guys that he met in class or at the cafeteria and with which he exchanges quick chats in the corridors of the university. He even went out on a date with some of them, but for some reason he never felt any connection with them besides their common interests in art or some shallow conversation about the weather in London.

For this, he blames his enduring passion for poetry, which convinced him of the possibility of a deeper kind of love, a sort connection of souls that was supposed to make him feel like he met his other half, his long lost heart, his everything. With such high expectations, love has never been easy for him.

He has done… things with them. He also enjoyed some of those things, but nothing he feels comfortable speaking about with a straight guy he just met.

«Not yet. I’ve been busy trying to catch up with the courses and everything else.»

Booker doesn’t insist anymore and Yusuf goes back to his noodles.

«By the way» he adds «I’ve seen an _Olympique de Marseille_ t-shirt on the couch, and I guess it’s yours. Are you a football fan?»

«Oh boy! Please, tell me that you are also a football fan» he asks, excited.

«I don’t really follow the championship but I enjoyed playing as a kid and later as a teen, and I don’t dislike watching a match, if I’m in good company.»

«Finally, someone with some good fucking taste in sport! You’re already booked for this Friday.»

Yusuf can’t help but smile at the sheer enthusiasm of Booker. He has spent few hours with him but he noticed, right from the beginning, a dark shade in his eyes, a deep sadness wrapped around his heart that he carries around like a rock chained to his ankle. Which is the reason why, when he genuinely smiles, his eyes look even brighter. He thinks he can actually enjoy this sad french guy who loves football.

They spend the rest of the night sharing old stories from their past years in university, and Yusuf can’t remember the last time he laughed at the point of tears. At the end of the night, with Booker nearly drunk after the third beer, they decide to call it a day and go to sleep.

«When will the other guy come home? I would like to meet him.»

«This week Nicky has a weird schedule,» says Booker. «I don’t think he will be home before one and he will probably go straight to bed.»

«Every time you talk about him, I’m closer to figure him as a mythological creature.»

Booker laughs: «He would love your definition.» Then he smiles warmly at him and says: «Don’t worry about him, you will meet him tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll love him.»

Yusuf nods, still uncertain, but decides to follow Booker’s advice and go to sleep. After a quick stop to the bathroom, he reaches his bedroom and he lies under the freshly washed sheet. He drowns his nose in the pillow and closes his eyes. A thousand thoughts infest his head, and he struggles to fall asleep.

Then, when the slumber has nearly overtaken him, he hears some noises coming from the entrance. A door opening and then closing. Few light steps on the floor and then nothing. Then the shower and the flushing of the toilet. Finally, the door next to his room opens and he can hear the quiet screech of the hinges.

 _Nicky_ , he thinks. The wall between their room is so thin that it feels as if the guy is in the same room. He tries to figure him in his head, but he remains a faceless body and he realizes that he knows nothing about him, nothing except that he’s Christian. _Catholic_ , to be precise. So, judging by the name, probably Irish? Maybe he has been hasty, signing the contract without even meeting him. But he has always considered himself pretty good at judging people and Booker – who seemed genuinely nice – guaranteed for him. Yusuf wanted to trust him.

Finally, he hears the other guy slipping into his bed by the gentle creak of the mattress. And then beyond the wall, only silence.

  
  


  
  


**Tuesday**

  
  


He wakes up and, for a brief second, he hardly recognizes the place. His heart jumps in his chest and he feels uncanny vertigo, before realizing _I’m not there anymore. I moved out. I’m safe here._

He stares at the blank walls of his new room and sighs in relief.

The clock on his nightstand tells him that he still has an hour before heading for his morning class. He stretches and yawns, and gives a quick look outside of the window. The streets below his building are already animated, with people rushing to their offices and shopper owners opening their shutters.

He reaches the bathroom and then he heads to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. Only at that point, he notices that someone is sleeping on the couch. A girl, to be precise.

 _Nicky’s girlfriend?_ he wonders, but then he finds it strange that his girlfriend is sleeping on the couch instead of his bed. The girl – well, the woman – has short black hair and is wearing a t-shirt and no pants at all. He can actually spot the pants, a pair of black jeans, lying on the armchair next to the tv, together with a pair of boots. He rolls his eyes: the last thing he could possibly want at half-past seven in the morning is a half-naked woman in his living room.

He clears his voice and the woman seems to wake up. She looks visibly wrecked and the empty bottle of vodka next to the couch could be the reason why.

She raises her head and stares at him: «Who the fuck are you?» she asks.

«No, who the fuck are _you_ _?_ »

She tries to sit with a groan while holding her head between her hands. «I’m Andy. Are you with Nicky?»

Yusuf looks at her, confused. _“_ _Are you with Nicky?” What is that even supposed to mean?_ «I’m the new flatmate.»

«Ah, you took Lykon’s room,» she says. «Well, nice to meet you...»

«Joe.»

«Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m your new neighbor.»

The woman, Andy, has an indistinguishable accent. Yusuf has always been good at recognizing the accents, but she’s a mystery. She doesn’t sound British, nor American, but at the same time, she sounds like a native speaker, with no foreign accent at all.

«Nice to meet you, Andy. Still, it doesn’t explain why you’re sleeping on our couch.»

«I fought with my girlfriend. She kicked me out» she admits, scratching the back of her neck.

Yusuf internalizes the information ‘girlfriend’ automatically, before realizing – _girlfriend?_ So, he wasn’t the only non-straight tenant of the building.

«Still, it doesn’t explain why you’re sleeping here.»

At that point, a very tired Booker comes out of his room: « _C’est quoi ce bordel_ _?_ » he mutters, before seeing Andy. «What did you do this time?»

«I accidentally spoilered her the ending of _Downton Abbey_.»

« _Accidentally_.»

«Yeah, no, I did that on purpose. I hate those posh fuckers and I was tired of them.»

Booker shakes his head: «Joe, forgive her. She’s our bisexual disaster of a neighbor that gets occasionally kicked out by her girlfriend. After wakening up at 3 a.m. at least once per month we decided to give her a copy of the keys and just let her sleep on the couch when this happens. I swear, she can be nice when she’s not drunk.»

«I’m not drunk. My liver took care of it in these−» she looks at the phone. «Shit! It’s only half-past seven? Why the hell did you wake me up?»

«Andy, please, lower your voice,» says Booker. «Nicky is still sleeping. And you don’t want to wake up Nicky on his morning off, do you?»

Yusuf sees the woman shivering. «I don’t have death wishes.»

«I hardly believe you. You’ve been dating Quỳnh for two years, now.»

«Quỳnh rage is devastating but predictable. Nicky’s fury is… something I wish I had never experienced.»

«So, Nicky won’t wake up any soon?» asks Yusuf.

«I wouldn’t dare to knock at his door before ten,» says Booker. «One time I did and I learned the lesson _the hard way_.»

Yusuf was hoping to meet this phantom Nicky, but he was more elusive than expected. He wonders if that is a good sign or if he should worry about it. _Maybe he’s doing it on purpose? Maybe he doesn’t want to meet me. Maybe he’s an asshole._

Sure, Booker said that he was _nice_ , and Booker was actually nice to him. But he has met many people that were ‘nice and kind’ until they found out about his origins.

«I’m making coffee,» says Yusuf. «Should I make some more?»

«I already like this guy,» says Andy, standing up and stretching. She sits at the kitchen table while Booker disappears in the bathroom. «So, Joe, first year in London?»

«And quite a year. I just started my Master in History of the Arts.»

«I’m at my last year of Ph.D.»

«What field?»

«Ancient history, with a particular focus on the nomadic tribes of central Eurasia.»

Yusuf whistles, impressed. «That seems pretty specific.»

«It’s a nice way to say _deadly boring_.»

Yusuf laughs: «I didn’t mean that. I was wondering if there’s a particular reason why you are interested in such a peculiar subject.»

She shrugs, drinking the coffee from the mug that Yusuf hands her. «I’ve always been a sort of nomadic myself and I felt a connection with these forgotten people.»

He registers the new information. She must have traveled a lot, as a kid, which could explain her inexistent accent. «Where are you from?» he asks.

«It depends. Do you mean where I was born, where I was raised, what are my parents' nationalities, what are my parents' ethnicities or what is written on my passport?»

He tries to stutter an answer. «I− I didn’t think this would have been a difficult question.»

She laughs, and he can tell that her amusement is sincere. «I’m sorry. My whole life is a mess, and I enjoy confusing people. I was born in Russia but officially I’m Greek. Identity can be hard, sometimes. Well, maybe not in your case. North Africa?»

«You gotta be more specific,» he says, challenging her. At that point, Booker reaches them and picks up his mug of coffee.

«Ah, is this a bet? I bet ten pounds on Andy» he says.

Yusuf takes his wallet and places ten pounds on Booker’s money. «I’m in.»

«So, tell me something in Arabic,» she asks.

« _Do you speak Arabic? Why am I not surprised at all?_ »

« _I’m a multifaceted woman, as you will find out._ »

« _You surely never get bored, do you?_ »

« _In this neighborhood? Seldom_ _._ »

Booker stares at them, impatiently. Andy frowns and holds Yusuf’s gaze for an endless second before saying, after a dramatic pause: «Tunis?»

«Are you shitting me?» shouts Yusuf.

Booker laughs, picking the money. «First lesson: never bet against Andy. I stole so much money from Nicky, but he hasn’t grasped the concept yet.»

Yusuf looks at the woman in front of him, more intrigued by her amazing capability than pissed for the lost money.

_They surely never get bored, around here._

  
  


Despite the trilling beginning with Andy’s encounter, the day hasn’t been what Yusuf would define “a good day”. He has been running back and forth from the different buildings of the department. While he was heading home, it started raining and he had to protect his bag under his jacket, with the result that the rest of him was completely soaked wet. He closes the entrance door of the building behind him and finally takes a breath of relief.

He doesn’t dare to check the sketch yet, so he goes upstairs. While he looks for the key, lost somewhere in the pockets of his jacket, he spots a girl approaching him. She stops at the door that is right in front of his, and only then she seems to notice him.

«Hi, I’m Joe. I just moved here» he says. She removes one earphone and she shakes his hand.

«Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Nile. When did you move?»

«Yesterday, actually.»

«That explained why Book and Nicky didn’t tell me anything. I’m glad to hear that they found a new flatmate. Are you also a student?»

«Master student in Art.»

«No way! I’m doing my Bachelor in Art!» she exclaims, suddenly excited. «Another art student, I’m so happy. Don’t get me wrong, the others are fantastic, but they are all more in the humanistic area, and sometimes I feel left behind. Do you paint? Draw?»

«I mostly draw and sometimes I paint,» he says, thinking about his poor sketches, still in the bag.

«I used to work with clay when I was in high school and sometimes I still manage to.»

«I would love to see something yours if you are willing to share.»

Her beaming smiles catches him off guard. «I would love too, especially if I get to see _your_ drawings.»

«Deal» he agrees.

«Have you already meet the others?» she asks.

«The others?»

«Andy and Quỳnh.»

«I had the pleasure to meet Andy this morning and I also learned to never bet against her. I still haven’t met Quỳnh, though. Actually, I haven’t met Nicky either.»

Nile laughs softly: «Yeah, that guy has the weirdest schedule.»

«Everyone keeps telling me the most different things about him. I can’t figure him out in my head.»

Nile smiles and says: «I’ve known him for more than one year and I still haven’t figured him out. He’s… peculiar.»

«Should this reassure me?»

«Maybe not. But I’m sure you will love him, as we all do.»

_Maybe we are not meant to find each other. Maybe, there is a curse. Or maybe I will end up being the only one who dislikes him and everyone else will dislike me back._

«I mean, how hard can it be to meet him? We literally live under the same roof?»

  
  


  
  


**Friday**

  
  


Yusuf crushes on the couch with a disgruntled moan. The bad weather London is famous for didn’t disappoint the expectations and Yusuf, once again, finds himself soaked wet, with a painful headache and a considerable workload for the weekend.

He decides that the wisest thing to do at that moment is to change into more comfortable – and dried – clothes and prepare a hot tea, before dealing with the rest of the afternoon. Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping his tea, he can finally take a deep breath and think about the last few days.

The endless coming and going of his new apartment has been added to the already frenetic schedule of the University. His dinners with Booker, that they usually spend discussing French literature or football championship, are maybe his favorite moment of the day. In a few days he got used to seeing Andy popping up, in the most unpredictable moments, and finding her lying on his couch eating Booker’s barbecue crisps. And then there is Nile, with whom there has been an immediate connection. They bonded over their common passion for the Arts and they agreed to go shopping together for art crafts, that weekend.

He also met Quỳnh, Andy’s terrifying girlfriend. Seldom Yusuf has felt intimidated by someone, but Quỳnh has the ability to lock anyone to the wall with a single stare. When she reached for Yusuf’s hand, the day they met, and told him with her smooth voice “Welcome to the squad”, she held his gaze and he had the absolute certainty that if he ever hurt any of the other lodgers, that Vietnamese woman would have tracked him to the end of the world and thrown him at the bottom of the ocean.

It sounds crazy, but despite having lived there for less than a week, he starts to consider those crazy and eccentric people like a second family. A family made of different ethnicities, nationalities, religions, and languages, but kind and welcoming. For the first time since he left Tunis, he feels at home.

That night, while they were watching the match together, Booker gives a quick look at his phone and says: «Hey, Joe, the girls invited us for dinner, tomorrow night. Are you in?»

He deduces that “the girls” are Andy, Quỳnh, and Nile. «Yeah, sure.»

«Great, I’ll tell Nicky,» he says, typing a message on his phone.

«So, will he be there?»

«He never misses one of these dinners.»

 _I will finally meet him_ , he thinks. «Should I bring something?»

«Nah, this will be your welcome party, you are the honored guest.»

Yusuf feels speechless. «Thank you, but I would like to prepare something, anyway. It will be also my way to thank you for making me feel at home.»

«As you wish. I’m sure Andy will appreciate more food.»

During the interruption between the two sets, Yusuf heads to his room, take his phone, and dials the number. It takes a few seconds for the other person to answer.

«Hi mama, it’s me,» he says. The Arabic flows so naturally on his tongue that it feels almost as a relief.

«Habibi! It’s been almost a week!»

«A long week, mama.»

«What happened?»

«I moved to another apartment.»

«Why so? You seemed to enjoy it so much when you moved in September.»

 _Many things happened since September_ , he thinks. But his mom doesn’t need to know. She would worry for him and this is the last thing he wants. «Here is cheaper and it’s closer to the University.»

«Do you have a problem with money? I will tell your baba to send you some more.»

«You don’t need to.»

«London is expensive and you are our only son. Our pride. Our precious treasure.»

He smiles, softly. «Mama, stop.»

She laughs and then asks, tentatively: «Did you move in with… someone?»

He blushes. His mom has become bolder since he left. «No, it’s not like that. I mean, I’m living with two other guys but they are only… friends? Well, one is a friend. The other one is still a stranger.»

«People usually don’t remain strangers with you for a long time. You have a warm heart, Yusuf, it’s impossible to stay close to you without loving you.»

«You only say that because you are my mom.»

«I only say that because it’s true. You’re a good man, habibi. Never forget that.»

«I won’t» he murmurs, against the phone, wishing he was still in Tunis. «Actually, I have to ask you for a favor. Can you tell me the recipe for the _brik_?»

«You, cooking? Are you trying to impress someone?»

Yusuf laughs: «Not really: I have dinner with some friends tomorrow and I wanted to cook something.»

«Ah! So indeed you are trying to impress someone. Okay, take a piece of paper and listen carefully.»

He opens his notebook and casually picks a pen from his desk. From the living room, Booker calls him, saying that the match is about to start again, but he decides to ignore him, just for a while, and listen to his mother’s voice for a little bit more.

  
  


It’s a loud noise, coming from the kitchen, and a curse – or what he figures must be a curse, that wakes him up in the middle of the night. His first thought is _Booker_ but it didn’t sound like his voice. A quick peek at the clock tells him that it’s 2 am. He gets out of the bed and looks for his slippers and then moves to the kitchen. As soon as he opens the door he can recognize a distinctive smell of meat and a freezing breeze catches him unprepared. He notices that the window of the living room is open.

 _A thief?_ he thinks and he looks around to see if there’s anything he could use as a weapon, but he can only find Booker’s umbrella, lying next to the entrance. He takes it, and he slowly approaches the kitchen. He peeks into the room and spots a stranger that is looking for something in the kitchen cupboard. Next to the unknown guy, there is a pile of pots and pans, that probably caused the loud noise. He also sees a huge pot that is currently on the stove.

«What the hell!» he shouts and the guy, caught off guard, turns immediately with a terrified expression. «What are you doing?»

The still-unidentified guy stares at him like a hare would look at the headlights of a car in the middle of the highway. He’s wearing a worn-out t-shirt and a pair of shorts. No mask or anything to cover his face. So maybe not a thief. «Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I tried to be quiet but one of the pot fell and the others followed.» His accent surprises Yusuf a little: he is definitely not Irish. But what destabilizes him are his eyes. A striking mix of green and blue, peeking directly into his soul. Which makes his dark eye bags on his pale skin even more evident.

Then he realizes: «You’re Nicky.» It’s not even a question.

«And you must be Joe.»

He sighs in relief and puts the umbrella on the floor. The other guy – Nicky – smiles and, pointing at the umbrella, says: «Were you planning to hit me with that?»

«I don’t know. I was improvising. But my question stands: what are you doing in the middle of the night?»

«I was cooking the _ragù_ . It has to cook for three hours and I didn’t want to make you smell it tomorrow morning. I promised Andy the _lasagna_ and I can’t let her down.»

«Three hours? Were you planning to stay awake for three hours just to cook?»

«I have a good book,» he says, showing him a paperback edition of what Yusuf recognizes as Dante’s _Inferno_ _._ If the accent and the _lasagna_ weren’t enough, that book was the final confirmation of Nicky’s nationality. Definitely Italian. «I’m sorry for waking you up. This week has been… honestly crazy and I didn’t manage to find a better moment. I would promise that this won’t happen again but I’m not sure I can keep that promise, actually.»

Yusuf smiles: «Don’t worry. Plus, at least I got to finally meet you.»

«Yeah, I’m also sorry for that, as I said−»

«A crazy week.»

«My co-worker’s daughter was sick and I had to cover her shifts as well. I don’t think I could have handled that for much longer. I’m so sorry, you must have thought that I was avoiding you.»

Yusuf cannot admit that _yes_ , he thought that, but now for some reason he hardly believes that the clumsy guy he caught cooking in the middle of the night for his friends could ever plan something like this.

«It’s perfectly understandable. Also, I moved in quickly and with short notice. I’m glad we finally met.»

«Same for me. I’m sure Booker has already introduced you to the girls.»

«Well, Andy introduced herself and made me lose ten pounds to Booker.»

«Yeah, I lost quite some money to him. Maybe I should stop betting against Andy» he comments, more to himself than to Yusuf. Then, suddenly, asks: «I forgot to ask before starting to cook, is there something you don’t eat? I suppose you don’t eat pork meat.»

«Mh, no I don’t. But it’s not a problem, I can eat something else» he says, pointing at the pot.

«Ah, no, I didn’t use pork meat. I modified the recipe and used beef and lamb. I bought the meat from a halal shop, just to be sure.»

Yusuf looks at him, impressed. «You didn’t have to do that.»

«Why not? You’re the special guest, I’m making sure that you can eat it!» he says.

At that moment, Yusuf realizes what probably happened: «I guess Booker told you about my previous situation.»

Nicky’s expression suddenly becomes serious: «Yeah, I hope it’s not a problem if he shared that with me. I’m sorry that you had to go through a difficult period. If I’ll ever do or say something that could make you uncomfortable, please let me know. The education I received wasn’t exactly the most open-minded and I’m still learning, but I’m doing my best.»

Yusuf thinks that, at that point, it’s better to remove the pebble in his shoes, once for always. «In that case, I want to be completely honest with you: I’m gay. Booker told me that he’s fine with that, and I know about Andy and Quỳnh, so I hope it’s not a problem for you.»

Nicky’s reaction is something that Yusuf wasn’t expecting. He laughs and says: «Yeah, definitely not a problem for me.» And then, looking at him with his dangerous clear eyes, he adds. «You know, I’m gay too.»

For some reason Yusuf cannot identify yet, that information resonates in his chest. That question Andy asked him on their first meeting, that “are you with Nicky?”, suddenly makes sense: she thought he was Nicky’s boyfriend. Or, well, maybe Nicky’s one-night stand. That idea destabilizes him for a moment. Was it meaning that Nicky was the kind of guy who sleeps around? He didn’t look like the stereotypical latin-lover, for sure not with those dark bags under his eyes and with those dirty clothes. But those blue eyes could probably make cities _fall_ for them.

He then realizes that he has been silent for several seconds, making the atmosphere between them awkward. «I wasn’t−»

«You weren’t expecting that. Yeah, the queer-straight ratio in this building is surprisingly high.»

«London is… very different from what I was used to.»

«You tell me,» says Nicky, smiling. Then, with a gentle tone, he adds: «I think you should go back to sleep. I will try to be as quiet as possible. No more pot accidents, I swear.»

«Yes, I should» he agrees, yawning. Before going back to his room, he hesitates for a second more. «It was nice to finally meet you. Even in this… unorthodox way.»

«I guess. Even though, I could imagine worse scenarios» he adds.

«Definitely.» Yusuf heads back to his room but before leaving, he peeks one last time into the kitchen. Nicky has gone back to his cooking routine and he’s mixing the _ragù_ with a wooden spoon with his right hand while holding the book with the left. His face is partially lit by the dim light of the kitchen lamps. His eyes are running through the page, jumping from one line to the next as fishes in the limpid water of a river, and he could distinguish his lips murmuring the words he’s reading.

That domestic image remains fixed in his retina even after he’s back in his bed, even once he has closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep again. And his heart is filled with warmness and familiarity as if he had known that weird Italian guy for his whole life.


	2. Families

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yusuf cooks the briks

**Chapter two:**

**Families**

The first sip of coffee brings him back to life. After one crazy week, he can finally enjoy a calm and relaxed breakfast in his new house. He’s about to take a bit of his _ojja_ , when he hears the sound of steps coming from Booker’s room. The French man groans a sort of “hello” before reaching the bathroom, from where he emerges several minutes later with a more relaxed expression.

He aims at the french press and, when he sees that there is still some coffee left, he says: «Joe, I might love you», while pouring some in his mug. Then he gives a quick look at the huge pot on the stove. «When did Nicky prepare the _ragù_?»

«Yesterday. Oh, well, today actually. I found him cooking it in the middle of the night.»

«Ah, so you finally met him,» he says, sipping his coffee. «How did you find him?»

«Mh… he seems a peculiar guy. But overall, very nice.»

«I told you, once you get used to his weirdness, he’s the sweetest. Also, he cooks very well and he likes to share. I think that Andy would sell her Ph.D. for a piece of Nicky’s _baklava_.»

Booker has just finished toasting two slices of bread when they hear Nicky’s door opening. The guy emerges with scruffy hair, wearing only a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Yusuf attempts to say something, but Booker stops him.

«Don’t talk to him until he has had his coffee.»

Without a word, Nicky opens the kitchen cabinet and takes a moka pot and put in on the stove, then he disappears in the bathroom.

«He prepares it in advance. In the morning, he’s catatonic» explains Booker. Nicky comes out of the bathroom exactly when the moka starts to gurgle, just in time to remove it from the stove and pour the coffee. He drinks it in silence, leaning against the kitchen counter. Only after, they see him smiling.

«Good morning,» he says.

«I see you prepared the _ragù._ How much did you sleep?»

«Six hours,» he says, yawning. «I finished the _ragù_ so now I only have to prepare the _lasagna_ and the _baklava_ , but I’ll need to go shopping for that. I think I’ll go this morning.»

«Can I come with you?» asks Yusuf. «I’m not familiar yet with the shops in this part of the city. So, maybe you can show me around?»

Nicky seems caught off guard by his request, but he immediately smiles and says: «Sure thing. Just give me the time for a shower, and we can go.»

About twenty minutes later, Yusuf hears a gentle knock at his door. He’s lying on the bed, reading a book for his Contemporary Art class, when Nicky appears on the threshold.

«I’m ready. Shall we go?»

«Sure,» he says, putting down his book. He gives a quick look at Nicky, whose eye bags haven’t improve after a night of sleep, unsurprisingly. He’s wearing a black hoodie and a pair of trousers that are worn out on the knees. He looks like he hasn’t even bothered combing his hair, showing a complete indifference for any kind of fashion. Not exactly what he was expecting from a gay Italian guy in his twenties.

«So, what’s the plan?» he asks, putting his shoes on.

«There’s a small supermarket, two streets away. The prices are affordable for foreign students like us.»

«Yesterday you mentioned a halal shop. Is it nearby?»

«Yeah, it’s very close. We can definitely pass by, I also need to shop there. I think I finished the almonds for the baklava.» Before leaving, he shouts: «Sébastien, do you need anything?»

«The usual» he answers from his room.

Nicky shakes his head and rolls his eyes: «The usual for him is a stack of beers and a family size pack of sausages. I’m trying to convince him to switch to a healthier diet, but his answer is always ‘over my dead body’. At this point, I’m not even sure if it’s a joke.»

They leave the house together and cross the hallway. «He mentioned an ex-girlfriend. I guess the break-up wasn’t painless.»

«He was a mess. I mean, Booker is still a mess, he’s our French disaster, but those months were tough. Lykon and I spent I don’t know how many nights trying to distract him from thinking about Sylvie. We even watched football with him, a thing that eighteen years with my brothers didn’t convince me to do. I think Lykon was way more helpful than I was. I’m not exactly good at relationships» he says, opening the door of the building and stepping outside.

The cold wind of March hits them and Yusuf shivers in his leather jacket. Nicky’s last sentence resonates in his mind. What was that supposed to mean? Was it a subtle way to say that he was a one-night stand type of guy? He doesn’t look like one, but he already observed how difficult it is to fit Nicky into a stereotype. Maybe behind those big innocent eyes, there is a real heart-breaker. The idea makes him shivers.

«You and Booker seem good friends» he states.

«We are… very different. And we fight about once per week about the most trivial things. But in this year and a half he has become a sort of brother. Even if he’s French, but that is not his fault.»

«So, you and Booker have lived together since last year.»

«Yes. Me, Sébastien, and Nile moved in last fall. It was my first year in London and I was lost. Before moving, I’d always lived in Italy, first in Genova, my hometown, and then in Rome for my Bachelor. I came to London for a nine-months Erasmus and I moved into what is now our apartment. My English was terrible and I wasn’t used to the harsh weather of England. But Lykon, Andy, Quỳnh, Nile, and Sébastien made me feel at home and those months together convinced me to chose London for my Master. They accepted me with my crazy schedules and my weird habits and they never judged me.»

Yusuf nods, silently. «Foreigner students have to stick together» he comments, laughing.

«Indeed.» They stop at the local supermarket. Yusuf is amazed by the astonishing quantity of food that Nicky is purchasing. He looks at him while he carefully chooses vegetables before putting them in his cart with religious attention, and how much time he spends looking for a particular brand of pepper. Yusuf finishes picking up what he needs way before Nicky and patiently waits for him.

«I’m sorry, I’m making you wait for me.»

«Don’t worry. I hope you don’t mind if I ask but, isn’t that a lot of food for one person only?»

«Is it?» asks Nicky, laughing. «Probably, but I like to share it with the others, and it never gets thrown away.» At last, he picks the beers for Booker and they head to the cash desk.

«You really like to cook» he comments.

«I do. I find it relaxing» he says, but Yusuf has the distinct impression that there is something more behind his dismissed answer, but he decides that he won’t insist on that.

Their next stop is the halal shop, as Nicky promised. He gently pushes the door and greets politely. The woman behind the counter greets him with a bright smile.

«Good morning, Nicky! How was the lamb?»

«I will find out this evening, but I’m sure the meat will be great, as always,» he says.

The woman tilts her head to peek at Yusuf and asks: «Ha, he must be the new flatmate.»

Yusuf smiles back: «I am, nice to meet you.»

She switches to Arabic quite naturally: « _And your name is?_ »

« _Yusuf_ » he answers. For a moment, he tries to remember when was the last time he has presented himself using his real name and not the very convenient English nickname.

« _First time in London?_ »

« _I moved in September from Tunis._ »

« _Ah, Tunisian._ » From her accent, he can immediately tell that she must be from Morocco. « _Here you will find anything you need, in case you feel the nostalgia of your mom’s cuisine_ » she says, winking. She then turns her head to look at Nicky, who is moving among the shelves looking for the almonds, and comments in English: «Our Nicky is already a usual costumer.»

«It’s not my fault you are the only shop around here that sells Italian brands of pasta other than Barilla» he replies.

The woman, whose name – Yusuf learns – is Faiza, helps him with the shop list, making sure that he’s not missing anything for the _brik_. This time, Nicky waits for him at the cash desk.

«See you next week, Nicky. And nice to meet you, Yusuf» she says, waving her hands as they leave.

Once they are out, Nicky looks at him and says: «I should have guessed that “Joe” was not your real name.»

Yusuf rolls his eyes and shrugs: «It’s an easy nickname. I don’t mind using it when I’m abroad. It’s easier.» _The nickname didn’t help you with those people, though_. He tries to stop the intrusive thoughts because the last thing he needs is to spoil his good mood thinking about his ex-roommates. «Well, I guess that also “Nicky” for you is just a nickname. Before meeting you I thought you were Irish.»

Nicky laughs with a loud snort. «Wrong kind of Catholic,» he says, adjusting the bag that at that point must be incredibly heavy. «I have very Italian-sounding name and surname, but I like this nickname better.»

«How come?»

«I just wanted a new start, here in London. A new life. A new identity.»

He says those words with a smile, but Yusuf can spot that bitterness in the corner of his lips, while his eyes seem to go somewhere else. And those words carry with them a weight that the kind and warm Nicky is not ready to let go. Yusuf can’t help but wonder if Nicky’s reasons are similar to his when he claims of wanting a “new start”. What kind of secrets he could be hiding behind those clear blue eyes? What kind of past does he want to forget?

His thoughts are interrupted by Nicky that, tilting his head, says: «Let’s go home. I still have to prepare the dough for the baklava.»

Yusuf follows him, wondering if he’ll ever be able to read Nicky’s thoughts.

Yusuf feels Andy’s eyes fixed on his back. She’s leaning against their couch, staring at them while he and Nicky work in the kitchen.

«The _baklava_ won’t cook faster if you keep staring at the oven,» says Nicky, while he finishes rolling the dough.

«I can try,» she says.

«Do I have to call Quỳnh?» asks Nicky, without even raising the eyes from his work.

Andy emits a grunt and says: «Fine. I will work on the thesis while I wait.» She leaves, closing the door behind her, while Nicky shakes his head.

At Yusuf’s perplexed stare, Nicky answers: «Once she took the _baklava_ out of the oven while it was still cooking and she burned her fingers and tongue. To be fair, she was in a pretty stressful period. Quỳnh still makes fun of her, though.»

Yusuf can’t help but laugh at the idea of Andy sneaking into their kitchen to steal the cake and ending up burning her fingers. After all, she was mortal, despite her god-looking attitude. He finishes closing the last _brik_ and smiles, looking proudly at his work.

«They look good, can’t wait to taste them,» says Nicky.

«I can say the same for your _lasagna,_ » says Yusuf, pouring the oil in the pan to fry the _brik_. «That _ragù_ smells amazing. However, I’m surprised that you accepted to change the recipe so easily. Aren’t Italians suppose to go feral when you touch their food?»

«Oh, they are,» says Booker, coming from his room. «Once I put some sour cream on his _carbonara_ and he didn’t talk to me for three days.»

«I’m still not over it,» says Nicky, menacing him with the rolling pin. Then, facing Yusuf, he specifies: «For me food is very important, eating well means living well. So of course I care about what my friends eat and I want them to enjoy the meals we share. But if someone has dietary restrictions I won’t be a prick about it and I will gladly find an alternative.»

«Well, what if my diet required sour cream in the _carbonara_?» asks Booker, teasing the other.

«Shut up, _mangia_ _rane_.»

«You are only mean to me because I’m French» he complains from the couch, menacingly waving his paperback copy of _Le mythe de Sisiphe,_ but Nicky ignores him to focus on the lasagna.

«Go back to your Camus and let us work,» he says. Yusuf stares at his quick and firm gestures and wonders how many times he has prepared that dish, how many times he has repeated those actions before they became natural to him.

«You make it looks so easy,» he says.

He can almost see him… blushing? It’s only a moment, then Nicky clears his voice and replies: «I did it quite a few times»

«Where did you learn?»

He smiles: «From my mom and my grandma. I remember waking up on Sunday morning with the smell of _ragù_ coming from the kitchen. They used to wake up at five to prepare everything. And then, after the Mass, me, my brothers, and my sisters, we used to wait patiently for the _lasagna_ to cook. I remember my mom cutting it, still boiling, and giving me the first piece, the toasted corner, my favorite.» But then his smile turns bitter and suddenly Nicky goes silent. He stares at the table, but his mind is in another place, in another time, and Yusuf can almost imagine a small version of Nicky standing next to his mom, learning all the secrets of a perfect _lasagna_. Then, that moment is broken, Nicky turns to him and says: «I think the oil is ready to fry the _brik_ _s_.»

Yusuf is clever enough to understand that Nicky purposely changed the subject, but Yusuf is also polite and well mannered, and his mother taught him not to push people when they are not ready to talk. So he takes the _briks_ and gently lays them on the frying pan. The sound of the boiling oil is like music, and Yusuf finds himself back in Tunis, in the small kitchen of his house, waiting patiently while leaning on the table. Nicky’s words resonate with that distinctive feeling: the nostalgia of a particular place, of a specific time, of the people that inhabit his memories.

«It feels like home, doesn’t it?» asks Nicky, next to him. In front of the stove, they stand so close that their shoulders almost touch, but that closeness doesn’t feel awkward or pressuring. The soothing presence of Nicky feels so natural, so familiar, as if they shared memories that have been long forgotten while having been acquaintances for barely a day.

_Stop it, Yusuf. You are just thinking about him because he’s gay and kind and funny and good looking and apparently also a great cook. But he’s also your flatmate and you cannot afford to move again just because you fell in love with a guy you barely know._

«They look good, Yusuf,» says Nicky, casually dropping his name. Yusuf feels his heart missing a beat for the way Nicky pronounces his name, almost flawlessly but stressing the final letter. Then, Nicky probably notices his surprise because he asks: «Is it okay if I call you by your given name?»

«Yeah, of course» he murmurs, staring back at the stove, to hide the light blush on his cheeks.

The whole “not falling in love with your flatmate” might be harder than expected.

«So, we were at this bar, a regular Saturday night. Andy and Quyhn were making out in the bathroom, I think, or something like that, while Lykon and I were dancing. Nicky was talking with this handsome Swedish guy at the bar and minding his own business and Booker was next to him, heavily drunken.»

Booker rolls his eyes: «I wouldn’t say “heavily”. It was a regular Saturday night.»

«So, _heavily_ » comments Quỳnh.

«Anyway, there’s this French guy that starts talking with Booker. But Nicky is too distracted by the Swedish man to pay attention to them, plus they are speaking in French. After like ten minutes it’s clear that the guy is hitting on Booker, like _crystal clear._ He’s touching his arm and he’s flirty and everything, but Booker is too drunken to catch it. Also, for being a guy literally surrounded by gay people, his gaydar is completely off.»

«I repeat, he wasn’t _so_ evident,» says Booker.

«Sébastien, please, I could smell his pheromones from where I was.»

«Nicky!» protests the French.

«So, Nicky is about to seal the deal with handsome-Swedish man, when he sees the French guy telling Booker something along “We can continue this conversation at my place”. So… Nicky, please, go on.»

Nicky puts down his glass of wine: «At that point, I was expecting Booker to take the hint as any normal person would do. But no, I hear him saying “Yeah, sure” and leaving the bar with this guy that, at that point, had his hands all over Booker.»

Everyone – except Booker – is laughing to tears. «Booker, how?» asks Yusuf.

«We were talking about football! How was I supposed to know you can flirt over football?»

«Anyway, I leave the Swedish man at the counter and I follow them outside. I stop the guy and I tell him that there is a mistake and that Sebastién is not into guys. At which he answered: “Well, he seems to enjoy my company. Why don’t you go back to your date so we can all have fun tonight”. And it’s only then that Booker finally understands what’s going on and then he says-» Nicky has to interrupt the story because he’s laughing too much. «He says-»

Andy intervenes to help: «And Booker says: “Ew, I’m not fucking a Paris Saint Germain fan.”»

At that point, Yusuf loses it. He feels tears running on his cheeks: «So, let me make it clear. The problem was not that he was a guy, but that he was a PSG supporter?»

«Okay, I was drunken. But yeah, if I ever decide to try it with a guy, it’s not gonna be a PSG fan.»

«Your dedication to Olympique de Marseille is moving» comments Yusuf, wiping the tears from his eyes.

«And when the handsome Swedish man saw poor Nicky coming back with Booker, he went away.»

«How many times do I have to say that I’m sorry?» asks Booker.

«Not enough. You were lucky that Nicky is literally a saint,» says Nile.

«More like “in a complicate relationship with guilt”, which is very catholic of you, Nicky.»

Nicky laughs, taking another bite of Quỳnh’s _b_ _á_ _nh kho_ _á_ _i_. «I wouldn’t call it “guilt”, well not in this case. More like “do what is right”, a moral choice. Also, if I let him go, he would have called me in twenty minutes, after an awkward discussion with the other guy, and I would have had to go and pick him up anyway, leading to me still missing my occasion with the Swedish guy. So, my choice was also utilitarian, if you may.»

«Nicky, you are not in one of your Philosophy classes and I still have to drink my third beer, so shut the fuck up,» says Booker, opening another can of beer.

«I will leave you in the arms of a PSG fan, next time» he murmurs, sipping his red wine.

«So, you study Philosophy, uh?» asks Yusuf.

Nicky nods: «First year of Master, already planning to do my thesis on early Christian Philosophers, with particular focus on Augustine of Hippo.»

«Sounds interesting,» he says, in an attempt to be polite.

Nicky’s smirk catches him off guard: «You don’t have to pretend. Everybody here thinks that I chose the most boring subject in the history of Philosophy.»

«It’s okay, Nicky, we all know you are a failed priest» jokes Quỳnh.

«I can’t believe you keep using this against me, it was like six months of my life and I was what? Eighteen?»

«Wait wait wait,» says Yusuf. «Were you _actually_ a priest?»

«No,» says Nicky.

«Yes,» say all the others.

«I did six months in the seminary. Six months! I was confused, okay?»

«What confused gay teen doesn’t enter in the _fucking catholic seminary_?» says Andy.

«It was just a phase. It’s not like I am a priest, now.»

«Oh, believe me, I’ve seen enough guys coming out of your room with a beaming smile and a weird walk to know that you are not devoted to celibacy.»

Yusuf can see Nicky blushing and lowering his gaze to stare at his dish. «Come on, they were not _that_ many.»

«Not _that_ many, but me and Booker were holding bets on the number.»

«Andromache, you are so close to losing your baklava rights,» says Nicky, in a menacing tone.

Andy shivers and decides that it’s time to change the subject: «Enough talking about Nicky. Joe, what about you? Are you single? Looking for someone?»

Yusuf feels the others’ stares focusing on him. And maybe he’s only making it up, maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, but he feels like Nicky’s blue eyes are particularly fixed on him, waiting for his answer. «I’m very single. I’ve had some… encounters here in London but I guess one-night stands are not my thing.»

«An incurable romantic,» says Nile on his side, teasing him.

«So, no random girls coming out of your room for Booker’s entertainment?» asks Andy.

«Well, definitely not girls,» says Yusuf, producing in the three women the foreseeable reaction.

«So, Booker is now the only straight person of the squad» comments Nile, delighted, while Booker snorts and takes another sip of his beer.

«You too?» asks Yusuf.

«I don’t see gender, I only see beauty,» says Nile, with a grin. «Next Saturday we should definitely go to The Guard.»

«What is it?»

«It’s a nice bar where you can dance and drink and meet people. It’s not a gay bar, not officially, but it’s LGBT-friendly. It’s perfect if you want to find a good quickie but not everyone there is looking for one-night stands, and people are very relaxed.»

In his months in London, Yusuf has never gone to a gay bar – oh, well, in an LGBT-friendly bar. There were plenty of handsome guys in his classes and he never felt the need to look somewhere else. Moreover, he wouldn’t feel like going alone, with the possibility of spending the night sitting gloomily in a corner. But the idea of going with his new friends sounds attractive.

«I would love it,» he says.

«So, it’s a deal,» says Nile, winking.

«Deal.»

They leave around one, when Andy finally crawls into Quỳnh’s lap on their couch, muttering something about the _baklava_. Nile helps Yusuf taking the leftovers to their apartment while Nicky is taking care of a very drunken Booker.

Nicky manages to drag the other man to his bedroom. From the kitchen, Yusuf can hear Booker saying: «You’re a good man, Nicky, even though you’re Italian.»

«Thanks, Sebastién, you too are not bad, for a French» he murmurs, before reaching Yusuf and Nile to the kitchen.

«How bad?» asks Nile.

«On a Booker scale from one to “my girlfriend broke up with me”? I would say a five. Nothing that a night of sleep can’t cure.»

Nile smiles at them and touches Nicky’s arm, squeezing it. It’s a small gesture, but Yusuf can almost feel her affection for the other. Then she says: «Okay, I’ll go back. Quỳnh might need some help bringing Andy to sleep. See you, guys. And, Joe, you still in for tomorrow?»

«Sure! Can’t wait» he says. Once Nile left, Nicky looks at him, questioning, and Yusuf explains: «We’re going shopping for art supplies. She promised to show me the best places in London. And after that, I promised to show her some of my drawings.»

«Sounds lovely.» Yusuf would expect Nicky to head to the bathroom or directly to his bedroom. Instead, the other man reaches the sink and open the water.

«You’re not washing dishes at this hour, are you?» asks Yusuf.

«I’d hate to do it tomorrow morning. I sleep better if I know that everything is clean.»

 _This man knows no peace_ , he thinks, rolling his eyes. «But you don’t have to do this! I mean, you spent yesterday night and this afternoon cooking, I’m sure that Booker and I can take care of the dishes tomorrow.»

«Booker will be a mess and this was your welcome dinner, I can’t have you do the work, can I?»

Yusuf shakes his head and smiles: «At least let me help you» he offers.

Nicky looks at him, surprised, and then says: «This can be done» and then moves to the left, making room for him.

«By the way, I haven’t thanked you properly yet. All of you worked really hard for this dinner, but I think you put a special effort. You made me feel welcome and I appreciated it.»

«Anyone would do the same,» he says, casually handing him a clean dish to be dried. _Not everyone_ , thinks Yusuf, but immediately regrets bringing back those memories. «Plus» adds Nicky «I really don’t mind all the work. I like cooking for my friends. I know it may sound sappy, but I consider these people a sort of second family. Cooking for them is my way of showing them love, as it is for Andy showing up with gifts when you are least expecting them, or for Nile to casually touch your arm, or for Quỳnh and Booker to spend hours with me, discussing literature and philosophy. I guess it comes from the education that I received.»

«You mentioned cooking with your mom.»

«It was more than that. I remember that when I had a bad day at school, my mom used to cook my favorite dish. I remember my brothers and sisters, climbing the trees of our garden to pick the peaches, when I was too small to follow them, and then coming back with the most ripped fruit for me. I remember my father, making me taste wine for the first time, way before he should have. And my grandma, on Saturday morning at the market, patiently choosing the best ingredients for the Sunday lunch and checking the vegetables one by one, and saying “only the best, for my dearest”.»

«You seem pretty close to your family.»

«We were,» he says, and that use of the past holds in it all the bitterness of his smiles, all of his sudden silences. «I come from a big family, the youngest of five siblings, and I can assure you that fights were not unusual. Every day we were yelling at each other, for games, clothes, for whose turn was to use the car, and my parents were always busy at the family shop, so they weren’t always there to stop us. But no matter what happened during the week, on Sunday we were all sitting together, having lunch like a family. In front of the food that my mother had prepared for us, we used to forget any grudge, any hard feeling. We have never been rich but sitting at that table, next to my brothers and sisters, with the table decked out for the occasion, I felt like nothing was missing in my life. I knew all the hard work that my parents had to do to provide us what we needed, and they always made us feel loved. I grew up thinking that, no matter what, my family would have always been there for me.»

Yusuf knows better that it is not his place to ask. He can take a guess about the reason why he’s not close to his family anymore. Because he used to think it would happen the same with his mother and his father, which, luckily, was not the case.

«What about you?» asks Nicky.

«I come from a small family. It has always been just me, my dad, and my mom. Both of my parents are teachers and they’ve always valued my education over anything and everything. I grew up surrounded by books and vinyls. I remember going to the cinema with my family every Wednesday and my mom teaching me how to play the piano. I remember my dad teaching me about the history of our city while walking the streets at sunset. And I remember dinners with my parent’s intellectual friends, I remember eavesdropping on them talking about politics and literature and art, switching from Arabic to French to English. They raised me in an open environment, they showed me the world they knew and taught me to appreciate every aspect of it. They taught me kindness and acceptance, the same kindness and acceptance that they showed me when I opened my heart to them.»

Nicky smiles: «They seem lovely.»

«They are,» he says. «This afternoon, when I was frying the _briks_ , I couldn’t help but think about my mom, I could picture her standing in front of the stove, calling my dad in his studio.»

«You miss them.» It’s not even a question. It’s a statement.

«I do. I love my life in London, I love the freedom, the new experiences, I love the idea of being far from home, on my own, of being independent. But I do miss home. And you know what I miss the most, apart from my family?»

«The sea,» says Nicky.

Yusuf turns to stare at him. «Yeah. It’s not even the fact that I can’t go to the beach when I want or that the weather is warmer, it’s more like-»

«Its comforting presence, the smell of the sea, the feeling of being home. The call from the South.» He smiles while handing Yusuf the last dish. «We come from the same place, in the end.»

They tell each other goodnight and drift apart to their rooms, separated by a wall that was there before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the nice comments!  
> In the next chapter, we will see our favorite family at the local gay bar ;)
> 
> if you want to chat about TOG and how these two men are ruining my life, I'm immortal-family on tumblr (applepie4 is my main blog)


	3. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yusuf goes to a gay bar

**Chapter 3:**

**Hunger**

Yusuf sits on his bed, while Nile runs around his room with one of his drawings on her hands. She stares at the wall for a solid minute, without saying anything, then she turns to him and says:

«How about here? You could put here all your sketches of Tunis and keep the portraits closer to the head of the bed.»

Yusuf wrinkles his nose, skeptical: «Wouldn’t it be awkward to have drawings of naked people staring at me while I try to sleep?»

«Okay, then how about you keep the portraits of your family and friends over the headboard? You could move the naked people over the desk, so if you are missing the motivation, you can just raise your gaze» she says, winking.

Yusuf considers the idea and nods. Nile hands him the washi tape while they both climb on the bed and stick the drawings to the wall.

«You still have so much space, have you thought about how to fill it?»

«I was thinking of buying some posters. And also, I was planning on doing some sketches of London to put next to Tunis.»

«That would be lovely» she comments. «I still haven’t told you how much I love your style. Your stroke is so neat, so clear.»

«This is only because you haven’t seen my charcoals, they are way messier, but maybe this is why they are my favorite. I like how real the portraits look, how human.»

«How about oil paintings? Are you good?»

«In high school, I was obsessed with the Renaissance and I did so many copies of Rafael’s paintings that my dad suggested to sell them to pay for my education. But now I prefer crayons and charcoals. They are quicker and I feel like I can really catch the soul of what I’m drawing.»

«This is also why I love clay.»

They hear a gentle knock at the door and Nicky appears on the threshold.

«Can I steal Nile for ten minutes?» he asks, politely.

Nile jumps out of the bed and reaches Nicky, catching him by the arm and dragging him away. «Come here, you beautiful disaster, I will make every available gay man fall at your feet.»

«Nile, please, we agreed on nothing too elaborated.»

She groans: «Fine! You kill all the fun» And then, from Nicky’s room, she calls Yusuf: «Joe, please, I may need some help.»

Intrigued by Nile’s enthusiasm, Yusuf leaves his room and joins the others. Nile is standing in front of Nicky’s open wardrobe, frowning, while Nicky is leaning against his desk. Yusuf takes a minute to look around. Nicky’s room perfectly reflects his personality. The furniture is simple yet functional. The desk is covered in notebooks and papers and a laptop lies in a corner. He also notices two shelves, full of books. He moves closer, peeking at the titles: most of them are in Italian, but he notices many books in English and some in French, ranging from novel to essays to historical books to cooking books. He can’t help but notice numerous LGBT authors, in different languages, that he recognizes because they are also present in _his_ library.

He notices a picture of him, Booker, the girls, and a third guy he doesn’t recognize – Lykon, presumably. In the picture they are in a park: they are all smiling, but Nile and Quỳnh are the only ones who are actually looking at the camera, while Andy is shamelessly looking at Quỳnh with a soft expression that Yusuf has never seen in her. Booker and Nicky are bickering about something, with Booker glaring at the other and Nicky rolling his eyes, while Lykon is laughing so hard that he’s holding his stomach. From that position, Nicky must face that photo every night, before turning off the light and resting. In the same position where Yusuf placed the pictures of his parents, dancing at their twenty-fifth anniversary. The place Yusuf has kept for his family.

Meanwhile, Nile has picked up a sweater and thrown it at Nicky. «Here, try this,» she says checking the trousers hung in the wardrobe. «Don’t you have anything _skinnier_?»

«Skinny jeans are not practical» he complains, getting off his t-shirt to try the sweater.

«They don’t need to be practical, they need to be cool,» she says. «Joe, please, back me up!»

Yusuf turns to face Nile and Nicky, who is wearing a turquoise v-neck sweater, mildly worn out on the elbows and maybe too big for him. The color perfectly matches his eyes.

«I think he should wear what makes him comfortable,» he says.

_With those eyes, he could wear a trash bag and I wouldn’t notice._

Nile groans: «You traitor! Wait, I’ll go borrow something from Booker» she says, leaving the room.

Once alone, Nicky smiles: «Thanks for the support. I love Nile but she tends to be… overwhelming when we talk about fashion, but I know my limits. We always find a middle ground between her flawless taste and my bad sense of fashion. If it wasn’t for her, I would probably go out just wearing a plain grey t-shirt and brown trousers.»

«And is Nile’s intervention effective?» he asks. He only realizes one second later, when he sees Nicky’s expression shifts from smiling to surprised: he is flirting.

Nicky clears his voice while trying to says: «I mean, sometimes.» Yusuf knows that, according to Booker’s and Andy’s comments, “sometimes” is an understatement. He still struggles to imagine Nicky, _that_ Nicky, the guy he found cooking in the middle of the night, the guy who personally knows all the shop owners of the neighborhood because he refuses to shop in big supermarkets, the same guy he heard discussing with Booker at seven in the morning about the influence of religion in Simone Weil’s production… well, it’s difficult for Yusuf to picture him being all flirty with some strangers at the bar.

«Here I am,» says Nile, coming back with a pair of black trousers.

«Did you ask Booker?»

«He doesn’t mind. Plus, he’s still paying for making you lose the chance with the Swedish guy.»

Nicky starts to casually undress and Yusuf turns, instinctively. Probably too suddenly, because he can almost feel Nile’s stare on his back, while he pretends to be particularly interested in a random book in Nicky’s library.

«See? Already better!» she states, clapping her hands. «Joe, what do you think?»

He turns and gives a quick look at Nicky. Nile managed to give him some fashion sense without really changing his style and making him look uncomfortable. «Y-you look good,» he says.

«Now, if only you allowed me to introduce you to the magical world of mascara-»

«Nile, I said no makeup!»

«But! Imagine your eyes? They would be enhanced! Double power! All the guys at your feet» she says, trying to catch his face within her hands.

«I don’t need “all the guys”. A good one is enough,» he says, rolling the sleeves up to the elbows. «Thank you for your help, as always.» He kisses her on the cheek, while she pouts.

«One day» she says, pointing her finger at him «one day you will let me do to you what I want. That day you will give someone a heart attack.»

Yusuf hopes he will never have to face that day.

«That is your cocktail, Nile, the beer for Nicky, the vodka for Andy, wine for Quỳnh, and the coke for Joe.» Yusuf takes his can of coke from Booker’s hand. The bar is nicer and cleaner than he pictured it. At eleven, there are few people dancing and most of the attenders are just chatting on the sofas and drinking their cocktails. He can spot several gay couples, being casually affectionate with each other, and he can’t help but smile. It still warms his heart to see gay couples being able to show affection openly and without fears. Andy herself, who already emptied her shot of vodka in one sip, has her arm wrapped around Quỳnh and is resting the chin on her shoulder, while the other woman chats with Nicky.

After handing them the drinks, Booker leaves them to sit at the counter.

«Where is he going?» he asks.

«Oh, you’re about to see Booker in action. His seduction technique is sitting at the counter, looking as lonely as possible, until a girl approaches him.»

Yusuf looks at her, skeptical: «This can’t possibly work.»

«Just look.»

It only takes a few minutes before a girl actually comes close to Booker and talks to him.

«How does he do that?» asks Yusuf, in utter disbelief.

«He makes the best puppy eyes. But this is only the first step. Then he releases _the accent_.»

«But Booker doesn’t have an accent.»

« _Exactly_. He forces his French accent and uses french endearments like “ _cherie_ ” and “ _mon coeur_ ”. Works every time.»

«Unbelievable. And after that?»

Nile smiles: «Then he compliments her while pitying himself. This leads her to compliment him and then they start the conversation. He slowly mild the accent to go back to how he usually sounds.»

«I can’t believe this works.»

«He’s not the worst seducer of the group, though,» she says, smirking.

For a moment, Yusuf’s thought goes immediately to Nicky, who’s still talking with Quỳnh while emphatically gesturing and spilling part of his beer. «Who?»

«Apparently, Andy’s way of seducing Quỳnh was criticizing her entire academic work and then offering to help her with her research. She was lucky that Quỳnh was already interested in her, otherwise, they would still be glaring at each other through the university corridors like wolves in the wood.»

«I can’t imagine Andy being utterly embarrassing in front of someone,» he says, staring at her. At that point, Andy has convinced Quỳnh to put empty her glass of wine and join her on one of the couch. He sees Nicky smiling and finishing his beer, left alone.

«Don’t worry about him. He never remains alone for too long» she comments with a smirk. «Do you want to dance?»

They move to the dance floor, joining the early dancers. It’s not even midnight and the bar is filled with people that are there to drink and chat rather than dance, but they don’t care. Nile is a good dancer. She lets her body move with the music and it’s easy for him to follow her lead.

Physical touch comes natural to her, in a way that is more intimate than sexual. It shows in the way she squeezes Nicky’s arm when she wants to tease him, how she leans against Andy’s hand when she cups it behind her head, how naturally she lies on Quỳnh’s lap when they sit on the couch – in those rare occasions when that place is not already taken by Andy – how tightly she hugs Booker after he has drunk too many beers. And it’s the same feeling when she grabs his hand while dancing. She’s not flirting, she’s not trying to seduce him – she must know that it would be pointless to attempt – that is her way of saying I love you.

Between a song and the following one, while he and Nile take some moments to breathe, he gives a quick look to the counter where Booker is still talking with the girl who approached him. Andy and Quỳnh are on one of the couches. Andy is saying something in the other’s ear, something that makes Quỳnh giggle. He realizes that Nicky is nowhere to be seen. He’s about to ask Nile but he bits his tongue.

_Stop thinking about him. Stop thinking about your freaking flatmate, a guy who, at this moment, is probably seducing a foreigner student somewhere outside the bar. Stop wondering where he is, what he is doing, who he is kissing. Because tomorrow morning you will see a handsome man leaving his room, casually kissing him on the threshold, sharing a cup of coffee with him, and you will be jealous even though you have no right to be._

«Joe?» Nile’s voice brings him back to reality. «Where were you?»

«I’m sorry, I was- doesn’t matter.»

She smirks: «I think you caught someone’s attention.» He turns to look in the direction that she’s subtlely pointing. There is a guy who is clearly looking at him, because at the moment when their eyes meet, he smiles. He’s tall and good looking, wearing a wine-red shirt so tight that he can almost count his muscles.

«Maybe he’s looking at you» he points out.

«Then why did he smile only when you looked back?» she says, winking. «I’ll be at the counter, at safe distance.»

Before Yusuf can complain, she disappears, leaving him alone. He turns and the stranger is coming close, clearly aiming at his direction. He has hazelnut eyes and a dark complexion. He wears a dangerous smile as he is approaching. He smiles like someone who knows how attractive he is and doesn’t intend to hide it.

«Your friend left you alone,» says the stranger. _Friend._ A subtle way to ask if she was his girlfriend.

«She did» he confirms.

«I’ve never seen you here before. First time?» He has a British accent, clear enough to be recognizable without being posh.

«Yeah, I came with friends.»

«And are you a tourist or…»

«I’m a student. First year of Master in Arts.»

«Ah, still a student» he comments, and immediately adds: «I graduated some years ago, now I work for a company in the city center.» Yusuf wonders how many years are “some years”, since he’s clearly a high-flying businessman, seeing the kind of watch he shows on his wrist and the well tailored jacket he’s wearing. What could he possibly want from a penniless foreigner student from Tunisia?

_Well, it’s not difficult to imagine what he could possibly want. The question is: do you want it too?_

The answer should have been easy: of course, he wants it! Who wouldn’t appreciate the attention of a handsome successful ethnically mixed man? What gay man of sound mind and body wouldn’t immediately throw himself in the arms of that Adonis?

_Tonight I could go home with him and have the best sex of my life. This guy probably has never received a single “no” in his life, I bet he knows exactly what to do to send me to heaven. And he’s interested in me. Of all the guys in this place, he has seen something in me._

«I’m Keane» he says. «And you are?»

«I’m Joe.»

They chat for about half an hour, during which Yusuf finds out that Keane studied Economy and made a brilliant career as soon as he finished university. He’s clearly trying to impress Yusuf, as he describes in detail the stunning view from his office or how he casually drops the information that his apartment is in Kensington. He asks him about his studies, but Yusuf notices how, when he’s talking about his courses and his projects, Keane is actually staring at his lips, without really listening to him.

«Well, Joe, it starts getting crowded here, don’t you think? We could move outside and breathe some fresh air.» Yusuf gives a quick look at Nile, who’s keeping an eye on him from the counter. She raises two thumbs and smiles.

«Of course» he answers, and Keane places a hand on his shoulder while they walk together outside. He can almost feel Andy and Quỳnh’s stare on his back when they pass in front of them as their eyes follow him until he gets out of the bar. As soon as he steps out, he takes a deep breath. A cold breeze makes him shiver in his leather jacket. The night is limpid, with no clouds in the sky, but the endless glare of London covers the stars. When was the last time he has seen the stars? Maybe his last night in Tunis, when he went to say goodbye to the sea, one last time, before leaving.

«So, Joe, you told me that you arrived in London last fall, is it correct?» asks the other guy.

«Yeah, I moved from Tunis last fall.»

«So, my question is, how are you still single?»

 _Damn, he’s smooth_ , he thinks. _What am I supposed to say? That I dated a few guys and quickly lost interest because I’m an incurable romantic that is seeking True Love instead of a Good Fuck?_

«Maybe I haven’t find the right guy yet,» he says.

«And how this “right guy” should be?» asks the other, coming closer.

_Sweet and kind. Someone who speaks the truth, instead of hiding his intentions. Someone who cares and respects me. Someone I can see myself walking side by side with._

But Yusuf doesn’t say that out loud, because it would make him sound like a teenage girl and he doesn’t want to sound ridiculous in front of a handsome stranger. He seeks for an answer, but he’s interrupted by the lips of the other man on his.

It has been months since he last kissed someone. He met him during his Modern Art class. His name was Paul, he was from the US and when Yusuf had told him that he was from Tunisia, the other guy had asked him “Is it like… in the Middle East?” But he didn’t care, since he himself had no idea where Utah was except for “somewhere, in the middle of America, maybe one of the rectangular states or whatever”. Despite being completely clueless about the geography of Africa – and also Asia, apparently – Paul was funny and sweet. They went out a few times after lessons in a Starbucks near the campus. They talked about their classes and discussed some exhibitions and they even went to see one together. He remembers commenting with Paul a painting showing flowers that may or may not had the resemblance of vaginas and they laughed together, Paul probably already drunk from the white wine, Yusuf still at his first glass of sparkling cider.

That night, after the exhibition, Paul asked him if he had classes the day after and Yusuf said that he didn’t. So it came naturally to move to Paul’s apartment. His flatmates were out and they had the house all for themselves but they still moved to Paul’s room and closed the door behind them. Paul pushed him on the bed and kissed him against the mattress with an urgency that was nothing new for Yusuf. “I wanted to do it so badly,” said Paul. When he felt Paul’s hand unbuckling his belt, he didn’t stop him, because he also needed that, he needed to feel someone’s hands on his body, taking care of him.

He didn’t last more than a few minutes, because it had been months since he last had sex with someone and because Paul knew how to use his mouth. He happily returned the favor and, judging by the sounds that came out from Paul’s mouth, he also didn’t lose his skills. But even after that, he realized that maybe Paul wanted something more, that he probably invited him in his apartment with the idea of fucking him – or being fucked, maybe. So he said that he was tired and Paul didn’t say anything and they just lied on the bed, half-naked. It took hours to fall asleep, during which Yusuf stared at Paul’s back and he realized that he was a stranger, that despite having had his dick in his mouth that same night, he didn’t really know him. So he turned on the other side and closed his eyes, hoping to catch some sleep.

The day after he woke up before Paul, took a quick shower, and dressed. When Paul woke up he said that he had forgotten about an appointment and disappeared. Paul never called him back, and neither did he.

But none of those memories matter, because the handsome stranger is kissing him and his hands moved to his chest, pushing him against the wall and Yusuf has no intention to stop him. He grabs his impossibly tight shirt and pulls him closer.

_Who cares if I don’t know him? I can go home with him tonight and instead of running away like a coward the morning after, I can stay. And if I give him time and credit, maybe I will fall in love with him. Sometimes sex comes before love but it’s okay. If only−_

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud burst of laughs, close to them. Instinctively, Yusuf breaks the kiss to look where it comes from. The guy who caught his attention is now speaking Spanish, probably telling a funny story to his interlocutor.

« _No, no te lo juro, y él me dijo que_ _−_ » before bursting out laughing again.

«Ignore them» murmurs Keane at his ear.

A second voice, warm and soothing, stops the Spanish guy: « _Manu, sei ubriaco._ »

Yusuf immediately recognizes the second voice. He turns again and looks at them. In front of the Spanish guy – well, Spanish-speaking, probably from Latin America – there is Nicky, looking softly at the other, smoking a cigarette. Yusuf has never seen Nicky smoking before.

The first guy, _Manu_ , presumably, leans against Nicky, clearly flirting with him, and steals his cigarette, taking a deep breath and blowing the smoke in his face, making Nicky cough and then stealing him a kiss. They clearly know each other, because there is a level of intimacy that Yusuf can spot in the way the guy places his hand on Nicky’s chest, his fingers caressing the skin exposed by the v-neck of the turquoise sweater that he helped choosing, and in the way Nicky grips the other’s t-shirt. And then he hears the guy saying something in Spanish, to which Nicky answers in Italian, taking back his cigarette and making the other laugh again.

Suddenly, Nicky turns in Yusuf direction and sees him. He sees him in the arms of the beautiful stranger and for a moment he looks surprised and then he holds his gaze, and Yusuf’s legs tremble.

«My place is quieter and we wouldn’t be interrupted again,» says Keane.

_Say yes. Go home with him. Say yes, Yusuf, stop missing occasions, just for once, can you stop idealizing reality and getting to be happy, just for one night?_

«I− I think my friends are looking for me,» he says.

«I’m sure they can find their way home even without you,» says the other.

«I’m sorry, maybe next time.»

_There won’t be a next time. He may have chosen you tonight, but you are not the only lonely boy in this bar and I’m sure he won’t have problems finding someone else. He will forget about you the moment he finds another guy._

Keane seems disappointed, but he doesn’t insist and steps away. Left alone, Yusuf heads back inside, feeling Nicky’s eyes following him.

He immediately spots his friends: Nile and Booker have joined Andy and Quỳnh on the couches and the girls are laughing while Booker is complaining about something.

«Oh, Joe, I thought you were busy with that guy. You seemed… invested» says Quỳnh.

Yusuf shrugs: «I changed my mind.»

Andy frowns in a way that Yusuf has learned means she is worrying. «He wasn’t pressuring you, was he?»

«Uhm, no» he murmurs. «He just… I didn’t feel like going all the way, not tonight at least, and I think he was probably looking for a one-night stand.»

Nile pouts and holds Yusuf’s face in her hand: «He was stupid, letting go a cutie like you.»

«Is she drunk?» he asks and Quỳnh nods, rolling her eyes. «What about you, Booker? Where’s the girl you were talking with?»

«She got angry when she found out that I didn’t like Naruto. I told her that I preferred Bleach and apparently, on her scale of judgment, it was the equivalent of admitting I hate puppies, so she left.»

«I think you dodged a bullet, last time you dated an Anime girl you ended up dressed as Light Yagami, chained to her dressed like L at a Comicon in Wales,» says Andy.

«Thank you, Andy, I need someone to constantly remind me of my darkest days» he comments, taking a long sip of his beer. «So, no one is gonna get laid tonight.» Andy clears her voice. «Well, except for our golden couple, here.»

«I think I saw Nicky with a guy, outside.»

«Oh, how was he?» asks Nile.

«A little shorter than Nicky, brown hair, speaking Spanish. They looked pretty close.»

«Ah, Manu!» says Nile. «We like Manu, he taught Nicky how to make _tamales_ and we will be forever grateful for that.»

«Is he like… an ex-boyfriend?» he asks. He didn’t seem an _ex_ at all.

Andy and Quỳnh share a meaningful look and then Quỳnh says: «I wouldn’t call him an ex, I’m not sure they ever dated. They just end up fucking every three months or so and, for the rest of the time, they are friends. I think they bonded over coming from religious catholic families and loving food.»

«He’s the only guy that is able to manage Nicky’s shit and his no-date politic» adds Andy.

«What do you mean?» he asks.

«Don’t get me wrong, we love Nicky, but he has… issues. I’m not sure if it has to do with his family situation or with his faith or if he simply isn’t made for monogamy.»

«I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of Nicky being like this. He looks like−»

«−the boy next door» finishes Booker. «Yeah, that’s his problem. I’ve seen so many guys falling in love with him after one night that were sent home the morning after with a quick kiss and a dismissed “I’ll call you”. He has that chill attitude and those blue eyes and he’s just so damn nice that makes you think that he cares. Well, he _does_ care, just… not in that way.»

_Oh, the irony. I’m a guy who seeks True Love and I attract guys that want to have sex; he’s afraid of commitment and he ends up seducing men with his nice-guy attitude. So, you better not fall in love with him, Yusuf, because you are soft enough to get killed by those eyes._

«Anyway, if he’s with Manu now, I’m sure we don’t have to wait for him. We better go home and take the earplugs if we want to get some sleep tonight.»

«Is− is Nicky loud?» he asks, worried. After all, there is only a wall between them.

«Oh, no, Nicky doesn’t make a sound, he’s like a mouse. But Manu, ugh, Lykon was never able to look at him in the face, the morning after.»

The last thing he needs is to spend the night listening to a guy getting fucked by his flatmate. His flatmate he may or may not have a crush on. His flatmate he definitely doesn’t need to imagine pining a guy against the wall or pushing him on the mattress. He doesn’t need to imagine him whispering in his ear, pronouncing his name. Yusuf.

He shivers. No, he definitely doesn’t need to think about that.

Once at home, they say goodbye to the girls in the corridor. Andy is teasing Quỳnh, playing with her hair while the other woman tries to open the door. Yusuf admires the way Quỳnh smiles and says “stop it” without really meaning it. Taken apart, Andy and Quỳnh are two serious women that can make every men in the room shiver. Together, they are two incredibly adorable dorks.

«I’m going straight to bed,» says Booker, throwing at him a small box. «Earplugs. Use them.»

Yusuf rolls his eyes and head to the kitchen. It’s nearly two a.m. and even though it has been a long day, he doesn’t feel like going to sleep. Not yet.

He takes a teapot and put it on the stove. His book lies on the couch, where he left it that afternoon. Once the tea is ready, he pours it into his mug. He knows he should move to his room before Nicky comes back. He knows that, even though he has no reason to feel jealous, he will feel the ache in his heart, but part of him wants to see. He wants to see what it looks like to be happy, to be held in the arms of another man, feeling safe. He wants to hear them laughing while they walk in, and Nicky whispering “ssh!” and he wants to hear them talking in their own languages, the words fast and light on their tongues, those sounds so familiar to them.

But when the door opens, one hour later, there is silence. He sees Nicky peeking from the kitchen door and stares at him, surprised:

«Oh, you’re still awake.» He’s alone.

«I couldn’t sleep,» he says.

Nicky looks at the book and smiles: «Baldwin. Good taste.»

«Have you read it?»

«I spent years seeking every single book of gay literature I could find in the library. So, to answer your question, yes, I’ve read _Giovanni’s Room_. First time reading it?»

«Nah, I’ve already read everything by Baldwin. I just felt like re-reading it.» _The story of a man blowing up his life for an_ _I_ _talian_ _guy_ _… I wonder why I felt like re-reading it._ «Favourite gay author?»

«Isherwood» he answers. Then he adds: «And this Italian writer I was obsessed with as a teen, Tondelli. His _Camere separate_ still makes me cry, every time I read it. Yours?»

«I like Baldwin. And Ginsberg. The only guy from the beat generation that I can stand.» Nicky laughs. He likes to hear him laughing, especially when it is because of him. «I’m surprised to find you here, talking about queer books at two am in the kitchen. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your company, but I thought you had better plans. What was his name, Manu?»

Nicky bits his lips: «Manu is− Manu was drunk. Too drunk for his “yes” to count. I walked him home and came back.»

Manu didn’t seem so drunk to Yusuf. Not so drunk to be unable to give his consent, at least. But yet, he could be wrong. Why else should Nicky lie about this?

«Did you enjoy your night?» asks Nicky. Yusuf knows that, behind that simple question, something more is hiding. Because Nicky saw him with Keane, he saw them kissing and then he leaving the other and going away. Nicky is too polite, too reserved to ask directly, to ask: “What happened? What made you change your mind?”, but his eyes, oh, his eyes are asking what his mouth wouldn’t dare.

«I did,» he says. «But then I’m afraid I ruined everything, as I always do.» He says those words laughing and scratching his hair, thinking that Nicky would let them lie between them, but he actually assumes a concerned expression and asks:

«Why do you think so?»

«I think I seek something impossible to find and I end up looking like a teenage girl in the eyes of grown-up men.»

«There’s nothing wrong in asking for more,» says Nicky. «There is nothing wrong with not settling down for anything less than what you think you are worthy of.»

«That is not what most men think. The few I dated thought I was going too slow and dumped me.»

«Then they weren’t worth it. Yusuf, I may not know you well, but every man that is not willing to wait for you is not worthy of your time. And, honestly, is also a fool.»

There is nothing flirty or seducing in his voice. Nicky, as always, speaks from his heart, without mincing words, straight to the point. Yusuf hopes that the other doesn’t notice him blushing.

«Man, I wish I had your confidence.»

Nicky laughs, shaking his head. «You think mine is confidence? I’ll tell you, mine is hunger. The same hunger I felt as a kid, when I first started noticing boys in the way I should have stared at girls. The hunger I tamed down for years, thinking it was wrong, thinking I couldn’t have any. And despite everything, despite all the years, despite being far from my family and my hometown, part of me, a small part of me that I cannot erase, is still ashamed of this hunger. There is no confidence in my behavior. There is only need.»

That night, when they say goodbye and reach their rooms, Yusuf lies on his bed and stares at the wall that separates his room from Nicky’s. He stands still, trying to catch any single sound coming from beyond the wall, any sign of the presence of the other.

He thinks about Nicky’s words, about that hunger that he said he felt growing, years after years, and he wonders if it has been the same for him. He thinks about his first crush, on one of the kids he used to play football with. Or for one of his classmates, as a teen. And for Kamal, who was his friend during his bachelor, who kissed him on the beach at night, when no one could see them, only the sea in front of them. Kamal, who was his first and only boyfriend, the only person he felt safe and confident enough to think about a future together. Kamal, who disappeared two months after with a single message, “I can’t do this anymore”, and never came back. He thinks about the guys he has met in the past months, in London, the way they touched his body and unbuckled his belt, seeking the pleasure that they could give each other. But even then, there was no hunger. Expectations, sure, excitation, obviously, but nothing that couldn’t be easily tamed, nothing like what Nicky was describing.

And then he finds himself thinking about Nicky, taking back his cigarette from Manu, gripping the other’s shirt. His blue eyes, staring into his soul. His honest smile. His way of pronouncing his name. His lips on him.

He feels something, an aching grip at his stomach, a low growl that grows and grows and reaches his throat.

 _Oh, there it is_ , he thinks _._ The hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No, no te lo juro, y él me dijo que−" (No, no, I swear, and he told me that-)  
> "Manu, sei ubriaco" (Manu, you are drunk)
> 
> If you think that I spent the last three days listening to "Hunger" by Florence and the Machine non-stop, you are completely right. This has become a Nicky song.


	4. Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yusuf doesn't get the hints (until he does)

**Chapter 4:**

**Signals**

**Monday**

Monday doesn’t start with a bang. It actually starts with a knock. A frantic knock on their front door during breakfast. Nicky is the first one to stand up and reach the door. As soon as he opens it, an overexcited Nile hugs him tight and says:

«Yes! I do, I do! Oh my God, Nicky, I thought you would never ask me!»

Yusuf and Booker share a meaningful stare before eyeing the other.

«Is it okay if we do it this morning? If you are free, of course» he asks, shyly.

«Totally! Oh my god, I can’t wait.»

«Hey, you two» yells Booker from the kitchen. «Are we invited to the wedding?»

Nicky rolls his eyes and Nile gives him the tongue. «Don’t worry, Booker, you’ll look amazing in the peach dress for the bride’s maids.»

«Well, at least give me the time to shave.»

Nicky takes the situation in his hands and explains: «I only asked Nile to help me buying some clothes.»

«Are you telling me that you are not gonna look like a clochard? Amazing!» says Booker, showing a good dose of sarcasm.

«Ignore him, Nicky. After one morning with me you are gonna be a different man» she says. «And for the favor, I will accept payment in kind.»

«Food?»

«Your body. For one hour.»

Yusuf nearly chokes on his tea. After he finishes coughing, Nile adds: «I meant to use him as a model for my Roman Art assignment. But don’t worry, Nicky, I’ll let you keep the toga, this time» she says, before leaving.

«You know that your credit card will be empty by the end of the morning, do you?» asks Booker. «She has been trying to drag you to shop for clothes since the first week she moved here. Why now?»

Nicky shrugs: «I had some extra money and I needed a change.»

Booker frowns for a second and his eyes go from Nicky to Yusuf, to Nicky again. He doesn’t say anything and finishes drinking his coffee.

Yusuf doesn’t give importance to the episode and he quickly forgets. It’s only Monday.

**Tuesday**

Tuesday doesn’t start with a bang, neither with a knock. It starts with a bell ring. And this time it is Yusuf who opens the door, facing an unknown man wearing a UPS t-shirt. He raises his eyes from the box he’s holding and asks:

«Di Genova?»

«I beg your pardon?»

«Are you Mr di Genova?»

«There’s no−»

«It’s for me!» yells Nicky, behind him and running to the door.

«Are you Mr Nicolò di Genova?» asks the man, clearly annoyed.

«Yes, it’s me,» says Nicky, signing the receipt and taking the box, with a big smile on his lips.

«Nicolò uh?» asks Yusuf.

«Told you: very Italian-sounding name,» he says, closing the door and aiming to the kitchen.

Only now Yusuf notices that Nicky is wearing a new shirt of a light shade of yellow. Nothing too sophisticated, but a nice improvement with respect to the usual plain worn-out grey t-shirt.

«Is that new?» he asks, pointing at the shirt.

«Uhm, yeah. I bought it yesterday with Nile.»

«It suits you,» he says and Nicky blushes, trying to hide his smile.

«Thank you. Nile chose it.»

 _But it looks good because you are wearing it_ , he thinks, without saying it out loud.

Nicky carefully places the heavy box on the kitchen table, then he frantically looks for a knife to open it.

«Did you order something on Amazon?» he asks, receiving a disgusted look from the other.

«Jeff Bezos can choke on his billions before I give him one pound,» he says, opening the box. Yusuf doesn’t even try to hide his curiosity and comes close to see. Inside the box, there are several jars and packages, all of them filled with food.

«Did the _pacco da giù_ arrive?» yells Booker from the couch.

«The what?» asks Yusuf.

«I’m not sure how to translate it in English, something like “the box from the South”. It’s a box filled with food that your parents send you when you are far from home.»

«Do you mean that this food comes directly from Italy?»

Nicky smiles: «Some of this stuff is difficult to find here and it doesn’t taste the same. So once every one or two months they send me the box. This time it is particularly rich!» he says, checking every jar.

«Isn’t it like… expensive to send it?»

«Food is priceless» declares Nicky, dead serious.

Yusuf can’t argue against that: in those months abroad he missed so badly the food from his home. The _borghol_ , the _harissa_ , the Arabic bread that his father prepared… his mom’s _tajine_. «I wish my parents could do the same, but from Tunis, it would be even more difficult. Man, what would I do to taste a good _tajine_!»

A big smile appears on Nicky’s lips, as he checks the items in the box, and he extracts some notebook pages, stuck between the jars. They are drawings, and clearly, the “artist” must be a kid. «My niece never fails to stick some of her drawings in the box» he murmurs. The first drawing shows a man next to a woman with a huge yellow crown on her head and the Union Jack in the background. The title of the masterpiece is badly written in crayon: “ _Zio Nico e la regina_ ”, which must translate into something like “uncle Nico and the queen”.

«You have a niece?» asks Yusuf.

«I have seven. Well, three nieces and four nephews.»

«Seven?» he shouts, incredulous.

«I told you, I’m the youngest. All my siblings are already married and they all have kids. I’m the disappointing one.» He says that with a half-laugh, but Yusuf recognizes the bitterness in the corner of his eyes. He recognizes that, behind an innocent joke, a part of Nicky still thinks what he said. Still believes that he’s not worth it.

«You are not a disappointment. I don’t care what you think or what your family thinks, Nicky, you are not a disappointment, in any way. You are clever, and kind, and funny, and you care about your friends.»

«I−» his answer dies in his mouth and he just smiles and says: «Thank you.» Nicky closes the box and puts it in the cabin over the stove. When he leaves, Yusuf notices that he’s still holding the drawing, close to his heart.

«No, mama, I told you that it’s fine.» Yusuf stops at the crossing lines, waiting for the cars to stop and let him cross. «I checked the prices and they are crazy. Plus, I have so much work to do.»

«But we haven’t seen you since this winter. Money is not a problem, we can−»

«Mama, stop worrying. I’ll be fine, I promise. We don’t even celebrate Easter!»

«I know, but I wanted an excuse to see you,» she says, and Yusuf can picture her pouting. «Will you be alone?»

Yusuf reaches the door of the building and looks for the keys in his pocket while holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder. «I don’t know, maybe? I mean, Booker and Nicky are both going home for Easter.»

«See? Your friends go visit their families. Your friends make their moms happy.»

«My friends actually celebrate Easter, mama» he complains, finally managing to open the door. «Why don’t _you_ come to visit?»

«You tell your baba. That stubborn man doesn’t want to take a plane.»

Yusuf can hear his dad yelling from his studio, claiming that planes are not safe. «Okay, fine. I promise I will come this summer as soon as I finish the exams. I will use this time to study and draw and you can call me when you want, okay?»

After a couple of seconds of silence, she asks: «Isn’t it that you met someone that you want to spend the holidays with?»

«No, there is no one, no matter how many times you ask.»

«Fine» she sighs, and Yusuf can hear her walking through the house. «Here, say hi to your baba.»

His father’s voice replaces his mother’s, as the man says: «Habibi, you are stressing your mother, and then I have to live with her.»

«I’m sorry, baba, but you are the one who married her,» he says, laughing.

«Did you like the book I sent to you?» asks his father.

«I did. But you know, things called “e-books” exist and they don’t have to cross the Mediterranean sea and half of Europe to arrive.»

«Yes, but do they smell like the sea of Tunis when you open them? I don’t think so» he says. Yusuf can almost picture him, arranging his glasses while sitting at his desk and correcting the exams of some poor students. «I will send you another one.»

«I will wait for it,» he says, opening the front door. He ends the call and reaches his room. He drops his bag on the floor and collapses on the bed. Only then he hears the voice coming from the room next to his. He knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but the wall between the two rooms is thin, and Nicky isn’t exactly whispering. After a few minutes, it is clear that not only he is “not-whispering”, he’s actually shouting. In the month that Yusuf has spent in that house, he has never heard Nicky shouting. Not even once.

At this point he’s not even eavesdropping, it is impossible for him to ignore the other but since he’s speaking in Italian, Yusuf cannot understand what is going on. Then he hears him saying “ciao” numerous times before emitting a loud grunt and then nothing more.

_Don’t go, Yusuf. It is none of your business and you cannot admit you were eavesdropping. Leave him alone, he needs some time on his own._

He resists the temptation to go and check on him. For two minutes. Then he gets off his bed and reaches Nicky’s room. He knocks gently and opens the door.

Nicky is sitting at his desk and, as soon as Yusuf opens the door, he turns to face him. And Yusuf feels part of his heart breaking, when he notices the redness of Nicky’s eyes.

«Are you okay?» he asks, concerned.

The other turns quickly to face the wall and sniffles, while he attempts to put a fake smile on his face and hide his puffy eyes. «Yeah, sure.»

_It’s none of your business. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Let it go, Yusuf. Let it−_

«Nicky, you know you can tell me what’s wrong.»

For a moment, Nicky seems to be about to talk. He opens his mouth but then he sighs and lowers his gaze. «I’m sorry, I have to go. My shift is about to begin.» He stands up from his chair and passes Yusuf. He picks up his jacket and leaves. Yusuf checks the clock: ten past five. Nicky’s shift doesn’t start until six.

Yusuf hears the door opening and closing. He looks at the phone: it’s ten p.m. He hears some noises from the kitchen and he can’t help but think about their first encounter, in the middle of the night. When they were still stranger. When he didn’t know anything about him, about his heavy silences, about his bitter laughs. He drops his book and reaches the kitchen. A pot of water is boiling on the stove. Right next to the pot, there is a pan with two chicken steaks cooking in tomato sauce, olives, capers, and oregano, and a baking tin filled with vegetables and cheese is ready to be put in the oven. Nicky drops in the boiling water what Yusuf would define as “too much pasta” and Nicky would probably consider “the right amount”.

«Rough day?» he asks.

«Kind of,» he says, mixing the sauce with a wooden spoon. «But probably I just need some carbs.»

«Those are surely a lot of carbs» he comments, pointing at the pot.

«As you said, rough day.»

«Do you want to talk about it?»

Nicky remains silent against the kitchen counter and sighs, before saying: «As you may imagine, me and my family… we have issues. And there are days where I almost forget about the shitty parts and only the happy memories remain. And this morning, it was like this. For some hours I thought that it could be _easy_ again. That I could drop this constant weight that I carry, that maybe there was hope also for me. But apparently, it was only their way to say “I’m sorry”. It has always been like this.»

Yusuf wants so bad to touch him, to hold him in his arms, to tell him that it is gonna be okay, eventually. But he knows that, if he holds Nicky in his arms, even just for a second, he won’t be able to let him go.

«I’m sorry to hear that,» he says. «But in a few weeks, you will meet them. You said that, no matter what happened, when you sit at the table with your parents and your siblings, you are a family.»

Nicky shakes his head and emits a sarcastic laugh: «Oh, I’m not going home for Easter.»

 _Oh, so it is like this_. Suddenly he can feel all the anger, the delusion, the sadness that Nicky must feel. «I’m sorry.»

«Apparently flight tickets are too expensive. But it’s okay, I can do double shifts at work and earn something more. Sure, then I will spend Easter on my own−»

«Well, you won’t be alone. I mean, I don’t celebrate Easter, but I will be here.»

Nicky stops and stares at him. «Oh.» He stares at Yusuf and then at the quantity of food he has been cooking, and then he turns to Yusuf again. «I’m glad. Well, not that you will stay here instead of going home to your family, I’m just happy that I won’t be alone.» Then he stops and covers his face with his hand: «Did I sound pathetic?»

«Just a little,» he says, laughing. «Don’t worry, we will be lonely and pathetic together.»

Yusuf sees the smile returning to Nicky’s face. They end their Tuesday together, in the small and cozy kitchen of their apartment.

**Wednesday**

Yusuf notices him at the other end of the classroom. The guy has been staring at him since the beginning of the class, and Yusuf has been trying to focus on the professor. Normally he would have smiled back and he would have stopped after class to ask him his number.

But as soon as the professor ends the class, he collects his stuff and leaves the room. Nile is waiting for him in the corridor and greets him with her grin.

«How was the lesson?» she asks.

«Interesting» he mutters, checking the door of the classroom until he notices the guy that has been staring at him. He turns, rapidly. Too rapidly to go unnoticed.

Nile grins: «Have you been distracted during class?»

«It’s not what you think.»

«And what is it? Because to me, he looks like a good-looking guy that is staring at you, probably trying to judge if I’m your girlfriend or only a friend. I can leave you alone, I don’t want to cockblock you.»

«No−» shouts Yusuf. «I mean, you don’t have to. I am− We can go for lunch.»

Nile gives a second check to the guy and shrugs. «As you wish,» she says, grabbing his arm and walking with him to the nearest bar. It’s only after they sit down and order their meal that she asks: «May I ask you why you ran away from that cutie?» while taking a sip of her soda.

Yusuf keeps his eyes on his glass, avoiding Nile’s stare. «I don’t know. He was surely good looking but I didn’t feel… invested?»

«I see» she murmurs. «Is there someone else?»

Yusuf gulps, trying to hide his surprise. Unsuccessfully. «I don’t− I just− I’m busy with classes and I don’t want to date. Not at this moment.»

She takes another sip of her soda, staring suspiciously. «Well, luckily you will have ten days on your own to _catch up_ with your classes,» she says.

«Oh, I won’t be on my own. Apparently, Nicky is staying too.»

«Is he?» she asks, surprised. «I thought he was going home for Easter.»

«I think it has something to do with his family» he confesses.

Nile falls silent. «Oh. Again.»

«What do you mean?» he asks.

She shakes her head: «Last Christmas he went home and stayed only four days. He left the 23rd and was back on the 28th. My family had come visit and I wasn’t expecting him to be back so soon. So, of course, I asked and he said that he had to work. Which was bullshit, but I didn’t ask. He had been in a bad mood for weeks, after that, and I know because I saw him smoking, and he only smokes when he’s in a bad mood.»

Yusuf processes that information and suddenly he recalls the image of Nicky outside of the bar, smoking a cigarette. «I saw him smoking, that night at the bar, but he didn’t fight with this family until yesterday afternoon.»

Nile raises an eyebrow. «Well, then maybe there was something else stressing him.»

 _Something else_ , he wonders. He still sees Nicky smiling and the other guy stealing him the cigarette. The casual way they touched each other. Their kiss. Their intimacy.

_Stop thinking about them. Stop hurting yourself. How many times do the others have to tell you that he doesn’t date? How many times until you stop fantasizing about him?_

«Huston? Are you still with me?» asks Nile, shaking her hand in front of his face to catch his attention.

«Yeah, sorry, I was… thinking.»

«Thinking?» A strange smile appears on her face. «About someone in particular?»

«No, I was− Do you know what kind of problems Nicky has with his family?»

She shakes her head: «He never talks about it, but if I have to take a wild guess? I think it’s because he’s gay.»

It hits harder than he would have thought. He suspected it, since the first time Nicky mentioned his complicated relationship with his family, but he never dared to ask. He remembers one of the first things that Nicky told him: “The education I received wasn’t exactly the most open-minded and I’m still learning, but I’m doing my best.” Maybe the reason behind his kindness was that he knew what it meant to live in a place where people despise you for something that you cannot control. He knew how ignorance could hurt.

«You know what I don’t understand?» he says. «I don’t get how he can forgive them, every time. When he talks about his family… he doesn’t hate them. After everything they have done to him, after all, they keep doing, he keeps forgiving them. My parents have always been accepting and they have never, not even once, made me feel wrong for who I was. I grew up in a country where homosexuality is still illegal, and yet they never tried to change me. His parents have no excuses to be like this, they have no excuses to treat him like shit. He’s too good. If I was him, I would hate them.»

Nile doesn’t answer and take a bit of her lunch, chewing slowly while thinking. «Things are not always that simple.»

«But they should. Your family is supposed to love you, no matter what.»

_And he deserves so much better._

«Sometimes you just don’t know how to show that you care. Sometimes you do that in more subtle ways. I think that they don’t hate him, they just don’t know how to love him properly. Not yet, at least.»

Yusuf clicks his tongue, skeptical. «And how are you supposed to know that they care?»

«Get a clue. Notice the small signals, I suppose» she says.

 _Get a clue. Notice the small signals. Isn’t love supposed to be open and clear?_ he thinks, munching his salad. The shy sun of April filters through the window, warming their faces while they eat and chat about their day. Yusuf thinks that it is going to be a kind spring.

Booker notices Nicky on the couch and gives a quick look at the clock: it’s half-past five.

«Isn’t your shift starting soon?» he asks. «Not that I want to take your place on the couch or anything.»

Nicky turns calmly his page, without raising his eyes from the book, and says: «Tonight I’m free. Kasia offered to cover my shift since I covered her one month ago. So, my ass isn’t going anywhere.»

Booker snorts and moves Nicky’s feet to steal him a piece of the couch. When Yusuf comes back home he finds them bickering, with Booker who is desperately trying to move Nicky’s foot from his face and Nicky trying to regain his couch privilege. Yusuf wonders how those two managed to survive for months without Lykon before he arrived and takes note: never leave a French and an Italian together unsupervised.

«Nicky, stop bullying Booker» says Yusuf, crashing on the armchair.

«He started it» he complains, hitting Booker with his paperback copy of _Orlando_.

«Anyway, what are you doing at home? Isn’t your shift supposed to start in a few minutes?» he asks.

«Not today. I took a day off» he says. Yusuf can’t help but wonder if the phone call of yesterday might be the reason behind his decision. «I was thinking we could have dinner together, for once? I can cook something. And then we can watch the match together, maybe?»

Booker stares at him, incredulous: «Since when are you even interested in football? Last time I offered you to watch the match together you said that you’d rather watch a French movie.»

«Well, I changed my mind. Can’t I change my mind?»

Booker stares at him, suspiciously. «You are hiding something.»

«People change, Sébastien.»

«What are you going to cook? Do you need help?» asks Yusuf.

Nicky bits his lips and says: «Mh… no, don’t worry. It’s an experiment and I kinda want to keep it a surprise. If it fails, we can always order take-away.»

At half-past six, Nicky disappears in the kitchen and Booker can finally occupy the couch. Yusuf has to keep himself from peeking into the kitchen, but Nicky wanted it to be a surprise and he doesn’t want to ruin his work. The smell that comes from the kitchen, though, is very promising.

At half-past eight he finally calls them to announce that the dinner is ready.

They both rush to the kitchen, both hungry and curious. At the moment he enters the kitchen, Yusuf knows exactly what Nicky has been working on. Nevertheless, he remains speechless.

«You didn’t!»

Nicky smiles, warmly. «Yesterday you said that you missed your mom’s _tajine_. I’m sure this won’t be as good as her but−»

«Shut up! The smell is fantastic» he says, sitting at the kitchen table. Booker remains silent, as he sits at his place and stares at Nicky, and for a moment it looks like he’s about to say something, but he stops and shakes his head.

The first bit of the _tajine_ brings him back to Tunis, and, as he closes his eyes, he can almost picture himself in his kitchen, sitting with his family. Nicky is right, that _tajine_ is not the same as the one his mom used to prepare for him. There are small details: the dosage of the spices, the way he cut the chicken, the taste of the eggs… but he likes this version as well. He smiles at the idea that Nicky prepared that dish specifically for him.

«Is it good?» asks Nicky, impatiently.

«It’s amazing, you really nailed it. Where did you even find a _tajine_?» he asks.

«Faiza lent me hers. She complained that I was doing the wrong version of the _tajine_ , though, and gave me the recipe for the Moroccan version. We could try that one, next time.»

«I would like to» he replies, already excited at the idea that there will be a next time. «Even though, I’m not sure how helpful I can be. I’m a disaster in the kitchen.»

«I tasted your _brik_ , so I doubt it.»

«Only because I’ve been doing them for years, but with a good teacher maybe I can learn how to cook.»

Booker snorts, and they both turn to face him, expecting some comments, but he simply takes another bit of the _tajine_ and drinks a glass of beer with it. From time to time, he raises his eyes from his dish and glares at Nicky. After he finishes his meal, he leaves them, reaches the living room, and turns the tv on.

Yusuf looks at him, confused. «Is it me or was he acting weird? Did I say anything to offend him?»

Nicky shakes his head. «Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it» he says while finishing his dinner.

When they move to the living room, the match is about to start. Nicky takes the armchair, while Yusuf sits next to Booker. Soon, Booker switches to French, insulting the referee for being clearly biased and Yusuf laughs, trying to calm him. He keeps his sketchbook on his lap, and quickly draws the figures of the players, focusing on their pose and trying to keep them dynamic.

Nicky resists fifteen minutes, during which he struggles to remember which team they are cheering for and where they are supposed to score. After that he takes his book and starts to read while raising his glasses and casually peeking at the tv every time Booker swears against a player.

Yusuf doesn’t doubt that Nicky would read more comfortably alone in his room, but at the same time, he can understand why he decided to stay. Yusuf himself has spent many nights alone in his room, while hearing his flatmates laughing and enjoying their time together. He remembers putting on the earphones and letting the music cover their voices. Despite their constant bickering, Nicky and Booker share many interests, in particular their passion for literature and philosophy and it is not unusual for them to lend books to each other. But since he arrived, he has spent many evenings with Booker, chatting in French and watching football, and maybe that time has been “stolen” from Nicky’s time. Then he realizes: _So maybe it’s the same for Booker. Maybe he thinks that Nicky and I will spend more and more time together until he becomes the third wheel. Maybe he’s afraid of remaining alone. Maybe that’s the reason behind his sulking, tonight._

Booker shouts again, making Nicky jump on the armchair, before going back to his book. Yusuf can spot his eyes skipping from one line to the next, behind the reading glasses, envying his ability to focus. He can’t help but dwell on his face: his pronounced nose, his squared jaw, the deep dark circles under his eyes that gives him an ancient appearance, as if he was a sort of Roman statue ran away from the British Museum. He gets why Nile asked him to pose for her.

Before he realizes it, his hand begins to move on the blank page of his sketchbook. The match completely forgotten, he tries to catch his traits, his micro-expressions. His visage is slightly asymmetric, with his left eyes being a little bit more closed with respect to the right one, a detail that is even more evident when he looks down, as at that moment. From time to time, his tongue leaps on his lower lip, in an instinctive and unintentional gesture that makes Yusuf’s hand shiver.

After several minutes, Nicky raises his gaze and stares curiously at him. Yusuf shuts his sketchbook, too embarrassed to admit of having spent the last quarter of hour staring at him. He turns to face the match, but his heart is still racing in his chest, preventing him from paying attention to the game. After Nicky goes back to his book, he dares to open his sketchbook and peeks at the drawing.

The stroke, as always, is neat and clean, but he doesn’t feel satisfied with his sketch. Despite resembling him, Yusuf feels like he didn’t manage to catch his soul. He then realizes how little he knows about Nicky, how many secrets he still has, and how much he would like to unravel them.

During the break, Yusuf disappears into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Nicky, as usual, tries to stop him, offering to do it, but Yusuf insists and Nicky goes back to his book.

When Booker calls him from the living room, Yusuf regains his place on the couch. Only then he notices that Nicky fell asleep, with the glasses still on his nose and a finger resting sloppily between the pages.

«Unbelievable» mutters Booker. «I managed to find the only Italian man who doesn’t like football.»

«I think you like him more than you’d like to admit» comments Yusuf, smiling.

Booker shrugs: «I like him. He’s like a brother and we are more similar than we admit.»

«What do you mean?»

Booker emits a low and bitter laugh and says: «We both like to drown in our sadness and grief. We keep looking back at our past and we don’t dare do build a new future. And whenever we see some glimmer of happiness we just undermine our life and go back to our sense of guilt.» Then he shakes his head while staring at Nicky, peacefully asleep. «Before going to sleep, we should remember to cover him.»

After the match ends, Booker takes a blanket and covers Nicky. Yusuf stands in front of the armchair, staring at the other.

«Don’t even try to pick him up, he’s way too heavy. He will wake up in some hours and go to sleep on his bed.»

Yusuf bits his lower lip and gives up the idea of actually picking up a 1.80-meter guy and attempting to bring him to his bed bridal style. He moves closer to him and picks his glasses, taking them off slowly. Nicky’s expression is soft and warm and his lips, slightly parted, are so tempting.

Booker clears his voice and Yusuf jumps, turning to look at the other.

«It’s quite late. We should all go to sleep.»

Yusuf nods and leaves Nicky’s glasses on the table next to the armchair. Then, he turns off the light, ending their Wednesday.

**Thursday**

He doesn’t know exactly how the idea comes into his mind, but at nine he decides that he wants to cook for Nicky. Maybe it’s the way Nicky fell asleep the night before that made him realize how tired he was. Maybe it was the memory of him saying how much food meant for him. Or maybe he just wanted to pay him back for the amazing _tajine_ of the day before.

In the living room, Quỳnh is helping Booker with his essay about British colonialism in India while Andy and Nile are playing poker on the carpet. When he mentions his idea, Quỳnh and Andy share a meaningful stare and smile, without saying anything, while Booker rolls his eyes. Only Nile says:

«It sounds lovely. I’m sure he will appreciate it.»

But as soon as he reaches the kitchen he realizes that he has no idea what he could cook. He wants to cook something Italian, because Nicky cooked something Tunisian for him. Pasta could be a good idea: it’s simple and he knows that Nicky loves it.

He takes his phone and skims through some easy pasta recipes. He considers to make some pesto – _isn’t pesto from Genova? It would be perfect_ – but then after reading the first lines of the recipe he decides on something simpler. He also skips all the recipes that involve pork meat or preparations longer than one hour.

In the end, he decides to do a simple tomato sauce with some onion sauté and some basil. It’s so simple that even he cannot fail. He cuts the onions and warms the oil on the pan. Then he opens the cabinet only to realize that he has finished the tomato sauce.

He peeks from the kitchen and asks: «Booker, can I borrow some of your food? I promise I’ll replay you.»

Booker just waves his hand and says: «Take what you need.»

He goes back to the kitchen and searches among Booker’s food. Hidden between canned bean and peas, he can find a jar of tomato sauce. Once the onions reach a golden yellow, he pours the sauce into the pan. He takes the pasta and wonders which type would fit better. He knows that spaghetti is an evergreen classic but he knows that Nicky appreciates _penne_. He decides to check online to look for suggestions, when he starts to detect a weird smell.

He turns to face the stove with a distinctive burning smell coming from the pan. He grabs the wooden spoon and tries to save the sauce but it is immediately clear that the mess is done.

He starts swearing in Arabic, loud enough to catch the others’ attention. Soon, they all move to the kitchen.

«Shit, Joe, did you burn something?»

«I thought this was the easiest possible recipe! How could I fail?» he complains, grabbing his head in utter despair.

Booker moves next to him, patting his shoulder: «Come on, man, everybody makes mis−» He stops, looking at the kitchen counter in sheer terror. «Joe, you didn’t use that jar of tomato sauce, did you?» he asks, pointing at the empty jar.

Yusuf looks at him, confused: «Yeah, you told me that I could take your stuff.»

Nile moans: «Oh, no! Tell me that it’s not what I think.»

«Guys, what is happening?» yells Yusuf.

«That was not _my_ tomato sauce! When did you ever see me using tomato sauce?» asks Booker. «That was Nicky’s.»

«Okay? Well, I can repay him for the one I burned? How much could it cost?» He still doesn’t see the problem.

«Joe, don’t you see that the jar has no label? That was the homemade sauce of his mom.»

Yusuf freezes. «You mean, the one that his parents sent from Italy some days ago.»

«I mean, the one that he keeps for _special occasions_ as if it was his precious treasure. The one he keeps more jealously than how Gollum keeps the ring!»

«And I burned it. While attempting to prepare the easiest possible recipe.» Yusuf feels his body going numb.

«Oh, man, you are so screwed,» says Andy, shaking his head. «Do you remember that time Nile accidentally broke one of his jar of _sottoli_ eggplants? And she is like his favorite! He forgives her literally everything.»

Nile cries: «How could I forget? I’ve never had Nicky angry at me before and I hope it will never happen again.»

«I’m going to throw up» declares Yusuf, leaning against the counter. «What do I do?» he asks, desperate.

«Okay, we need a plan,» says Quỳnh, looking at the clock. «We have half an hour before he comes back. I still have some broth for the _pho_ and the ingredients for the toppings.»

«He loves your _pho_ , honey» comments Andy, with a warm smile.

«In the meanwhile, you try to clean everything and prepare to wear your best puppy eyes. Booker can prepare you to face Nicky’s anger, since he’s the most expert among us» she concludes.

Nile and Booker move with Yusuf to the living room and sit together on the couch.

«Keep your eyes low and for the love of God don’t look at him in the eyes. It’s like staring at Medusa: you will petrify and won’t be able to even blink.»

«If he yells at you, and he probably will, just stay quiet and say “I’m sorry”. His rage doesn’t last long, usually» explains Nile.

«Then comes the sulking. This phase usually lasts some days.»

«Days?» he asks. He cannot bear the idea of Nicky being angry at him for one hour, let alone _days._

«During those days limit the interactions. He just needs some time, then after that period he just goes back to normality.»

Nile grabs his arm and squeezes it, smiling. «Don’t worry, Joe, we all passed through Nicky’s rage. I think the only one who was spared was Lykon.»

«Even Quỳnh?» he asks.

«She criticized his _baklava_ once. Andy nearly lost her _baklava_ rights because of her.»

At ten, when the door opens, the whole squad stumbles at the entrance. Nicky stares at them, surprised, while he removes his shoes and dumps the umbrella next to the door.

«Uhm, hi?» he greets.

«Nicky, sweetheart, I made you some _pho_. I hope you will appreciate that» says Quỳnh, wearing her sweetest smile.

Nicky looks at them, suspiciously. «What did you do, Sébastien?»

«Why must it always be me?» snorts the French.

«I don’t know, statistic?»

«It was me.» Yusuf steps in, parting from the group. He bits his lips, while trying to find the courage to confess. Despite Booker and Nile’s suggestion, he raises his gaze to look at Nicky in the eyes. He looks so confused and for a moment Yusuf feels his heart aching, because he knows that those eyes that now look at him with curiosity, in some moment will be filled with rage. «I wanted to prepare dinner for you, something simple, only pasta with tomato sauce. But, thinking it was Booker’s, I accidentally took one of your jars. One of your homemade jars.» He swallows and then adds: «And I burned it.»

Nicky remains silent. Yusuf holds his gaze and can see all of his micro-expressions passing through his face in an emotional rollercoaster: the way he frowns, the small folds on his forehead, the tension on his jaw.

_Say something. Please, say something._

«I know how much you care, I know how much that meant to you and I’m sorry. I swear I−»

«It’s okay.»

«I will visit every single Italian shop in London, I swear I will find some tomato sauce that is at least close to−»

«Yusuf, it’s okay,» he says.

Yusuf shuts up immediately. Behind him, he can feel the stares of the others on his back, just as incredulous as he is. «But that was− I thought you−»

«You wanted to do something nice and anyway it was an accident.»

«So, you are not angry?» he asks, holding his breath.

«I am not angry, I swear,» he says. Then he looks at Quỳnh and asks: «So, about that _pho_?»

Quỳnh and Nicky disappear in the kitchen, leaving the others in the living room, confused.

«Why am I more terrified than before?» murmurs Yusuf. «I mean, was it good? Wasn’t he supposed to yell?»

«I don’t know. It was… weird?» comments Nile. «It was like watching a tornado passing by and sparing your house.»

Andy and Booker remain silent. Then Booker snorts and shakes his head, heading to his room.

«Am I missing something?» asks Yusuf, looking at Andy.

She shrugs and says: «It is not my place to tell you.»

It is Thursday, and he is still missing the signals.

**Friday**

It doesn’t end with a bang, nor with a whimper. It ends with some muttered sentences, pronounced behind the door.

Yusuf is coming home from his class and looking for the keys in his pocket when he hears the voices of Nicky and Booker behind the door. At first he thinks they are only bickering, as usual, and rolls his eyes. But from their tone, it is clear that the question is more serious than their average discussions.

«I’m not blind, Nicky, nor I’m stupid. Andy, Quỳnh, we all noticed. Even Nile, bless her soul, even she got some hints» says Booker.

«I don’t know what are you talking about.»

«Stop it! I don’t know what kind of sick game you are playing, but I’ve seen you break the heart of enough guys and he doesn’t deserve this treatment.»

«It was never my intention to hurt anyone.»

«I know! _Merde_ , Nicky, I know but you have to understand that it doesn’t matter how good your intentions are, if you end up hurting people anyway.»

«Then what am I supposed to do? Treat him like shit so that he hates me? Is it what I should do?»

«You should just be honest. Why are you acting like this? Because you are not just “being nice”. I know your average level of niceness and that is way above the baseline. It is intentional. So my question is, what are your intentions? Because if your niceness is just pity, then you can spare him that. And if you are only playing with him, like a cat with a mouse, then stop it. Don’t try to see if you can make him fall in love with you, I’ll tell you: you can do it. You can hurt him so badly.»

«I’m not playing, Booker! What do you think I am, some kind of evil gay slut who likes to seduce poor foreign students?»

«I don’t know, Nicky, you tell me. What are your intentions?»

The silence falls behind the door, beyond the wall that separates them and Yusuf holds his breath, while waiting for Nicky’s answer.

« _Cazzo_ , I don’t know» mutters Nicky. «I− I am not ready for a relationship. I have my shit to deal with and I cannot ask someone to carry my weight for me. I cannot drag him with me in this pit of grief and guilt.»

«Then stop doing that. Because if something goes bad, he will be the one that needs to move out, because you were here before and because he will be the one who suffers the most. And this is not fair. Not after everything he went through. And because Joe is a nice person and he deserves so much better.»

Yusuf steps away, trying to be as quiet as possible, his heart pumping hard in his chest at the point that he feels his ears ringing. A sense of vertigo catches him while he leaves the building and as soon as he steps out of the door he breaths deeply, leaning against the wall.

He thinks about Andy’s words: it is not my place to tell you. And then the way Booker rolled his eyes and shook his head, the way he looked at them.

What was it? Take the hint. Notice the signals. He has been blind the whole time.

But then Nicky’s words hit him, like an arrow in his chest: “I am not ready for a relationship.”

_You’ve always known that it was bound to end like this. You knew since the beginning, but you fell for him anyway. You knew how much he would have hurt you, but you didn’t step away from that fire that you came close to, lurked by his warmness. You are a stupid, hopeless romantic, Yusuf._

He takes some more minutes, then he rings the bell and when Booker answers he says that he forgot his keys. When he crosses the door threshold, Nicky lowers his eyes and avoid his gaze, and Yusuf does the same.

Friday doesn’t end with a bang, nor with a whimper. It ends with silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the last chapter, I passed the 100 kudos and... wow! Many thanks to all the readers that made it until here. I will make you suffer a bit, but I swear, there will be a happy ending!
> 
> Also, alaskandawn made [this beautiful moodboard](https://alaskandawn.tumblr.com/post/632131699036340224/this-is-for-majestic-and-a-wall-between-us-by) for my fic!
> 
> Some small note: if you think that "il pacco da giù" (the box from the South) is made up... oh boy, you are so wrong. To be fair, it is more common for Italian students from the South that moves to the North of Italy, but the concept can be extended if you move, well, Norther.
> 
> As always, I'm immortal-family on tumblr (applepie4 is my main blog).


	5. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yusuf sees a breach in the wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there are several mentions of self-hate and internalized homophobia, though referred to the past. In case these subjects are too heavy, you can skip from "Tell me that you didn’t do it. Tell me that you didn’t accept." to "So I moved out. [...]"

**Chapter five:**

**Ghosts**

Yusuf wakes up in his bed with a gasp. His nightmare slowly fades away as his eyes start to adjust to the dim light of the room. The timid sun of April filters through the curtain and he moans as he crashes his face into the pillow again.

He rolls on the bed, facing the wall. His finger lingers on the surface and in the silence of the house he can hear the sound of someone typing on the keyboard of the computer. _Nicky_ , he thinks.

More than a week has passed since he’s heard that conversation between Booker and Nicky. A week during which he has tried to avoid Nicky as much as possible, and Nicky has done the same. He didn’t join Booker and Yusuf to watch the match and Yusuf didn’t wait for him after his shifts.

They have been moving in the house like ghosts, hunting the shared rooms in deep silences, and hiding in their bedroom the rest of the time. One night when Yusuf couldn’t sleep, he went to the kitchen and for a moment he thought he saw Nicky cooking, mirroring their first encounter. He almost called his name, but the words died before leaving his throat, in a deaf sob.

Booker left two days before. He was traveling light, carrying only his backpack with few clothes, his laptop, and a book – Le chant du Roi Errant by Tahar Bekri – that Yusuf lent him some days before. Before leaving he hugged Yusuf tight, promising to bring a souvenir from Marseille and to take many artistic pictures. Then he hugged Nicky quickly and remained a solid minute holding his gaze, before leaving.

Nile, Quỳnh and Andy left the day before: Nile for her solo trip to Scotland, while the golden couple flew to Seville. The official reason was that Quỳnh needed to consult some books that could only be found in the _Archivio General de Indias_ in Seville, but they all knew that that was supposed to be a sort of honeymoon for the two women. They have been going through a difficult period, with the end of their Ph.D. approaching and they needed some time by themselves to relax.

The house without the others feels big and empty. Yusuf stares at the clock and decides that it is time for breakfast. At the moment he rolls out of bed, the mattress creaks and he can hear the sound of typing interrupting.

_How long can we go on like this? How long before we can go back to be just friends, as we are supposed to be?_

A part of Yusuf wants to go back to their first encounter and start again, this time differently. This time without falling.

_And maybe this time I won’t ask him to show me the shops, I won’t cook with him, I won’t stay with him, helping him do the dishes. I won’t say no to the guy at the bar, I won’t wait for him to come home. I won’t go after him when he cried, I won’t spend the evening with him._

A month and a half has passed since Yusuf has moved into this apartment and a part of him wants to erase everything and start again from scratch like he does when a sketch doesn’t come out as he wanted.

But part of him holds those memories tight, too bright, too precious to let them go.

_If I could go back, I’d re-do everything. I’d make the same mistakes and I’d fall again for this man. I’d fall for him every time._

He leaves his room and stops to stare at the door of Nicky’s room, hoping to see it opening.

The door stays closed.

The evenings are maybe the saddest part. He misses his dinners with Booker, chatting about their days. He misses waiting for Nicky to come back from his shift, to hear him cooking in the kitchen, to listen to him whistling some unknown melodies. He misses Andy appearing at the weirdest moments to steal some food, or Nile coming in with a new drawing to ask his opinion, or Quỳnh and Booker discussing History on the couch.

Now, he eats his meal alone in the way-too-silent kitchen, munching his food sadly. After dinner he usually lays on the couch, always checking the time to be sure to go back to his room before Nicky comes home.

On the third day, however, he ends up falling asleep while watching a documentary on the Mongolian tribes with his sketchbook still in his hands. He wakes up at midnight, facing Nicky. He jumps, instinctively, and Nicky does the same.

«I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to put your sketchbook somewhere safe» says Nicky, and Yusuf notices that he has his sketchbook still open in front of him and that one of the pages is badly folded.

«Oh, shit» he snorts, trying to sit straight and making the sketchbook fall on the rug. Nicky picks it up and only then Yusuf realizes that the sketchbook is open on the page with Nicky’s sketch. The other guy notices it as well and freezes for a moment. Yusuf holds his breath, waiting for his reaction. When he sees Nicky’s warm smile, he sighs in relief.

He doesn’t say anything and hands him back the book: «You are really talented.»

«Thank you» he answers, scratching his head. «How was the shift?»

Nicky shrugs: «Long and uneventful. How was your evening?»

«Long and uneventful» he repeats, making Nicky smile. He realizes how much he missed it. «I− I miss our evening together.»

«I missed them too. I’m covering my colleague again while she’s back in Poland for Easter» he says.

«Isn’t it that you are overdoing?» asks Yusuf. Nicky looks exhausted and the dark circles under his eyes are worse than before.

«Maybe» he admits. «Maybe, one of these days, you can come to the restaurant and I can offer you dinner. As I said, the shifts are uneventful and we don’t have many clients, so from time to time I can pass by and we can chat.»

«Yeah, I would like to. I’m curious to see the restaurant.»

Nicky laughs: «Don’t expect much. But at least we won’t spend the night alone.» Then Nicky bits his lips, weighing the words before opening his mouth. «I’m sorry if I’ve been distant these days. I was… dealing with some personal stuff.»

«Same,» he says. _But I’m glad you are back._ «But I’m glad you are back,» he says, before realizing that he expressed his feelings out loud. «I mean−»

«I’m back» he confirms.

Later, before going to sleep, he passes in front of the kitchen and peeks inside. Nicky is doing the dishes while whistling a melody. Yusuf leans against the door and smiles at that picture, he frames it in his head and he feels at home again.

Nicky didn’t lie when he said that Yusuf shouldn’t expect much from the restaurant. The place, named “Da Tony”, is supposed to be an Italian restaurant, as the name and the Italian flag on the signboard seem to claim. However, the lady at the counter is more British than the Queen herself, and her husband, who from times to times peeks from the kitchen, looks like a doppelganger of Churchill. When they arrive, Nicky speaks for a bit with the owner and then shows Yusuf a small table in a corner.

«She said that you can stay here as much as you want, it’s not like we are expecting many clients,» says Nicky.

Yusuf sits at a table decked with a red-and-white squared table cloth and a candle in the middle. He feels like in a _Lady and the Tramp_ live-action. He opens the menu and asks: «So, what would you suggest?»

«As a starter, you could pick the bruschetta or the cheese selection. Then I think the _gnocchi_ is not bad while I would avoid the _risotto_ , unless you like eating concrete» he comments, turning up his nose.

«How’s the _tiramisù_?»

«Edible.»

Yusuf bursts out laughing: «You really are a food snob» He teases him and Nicky rolls his eyes.

«Fine, try it, and then tomorrow I will prepare mine and you can make the comparison.»

«Deal,» he says, smiling.

Nicky takes his order and then disappears into the kitchen. Yusuf takes his sketchbook from the pocket of his jacket and opens it on the first blank page. He quickly sketches the room, playing with the angles and the shades. Soon, a group of three people arrives and he hears the lady at the counter calling Nicky. He comes back in a rush, taking the block notes from the back pocket of his trousers and the pen from behind his ear.

Yusuf stares at him while he explains to the clients the menu. He turns the page of his book and starts sketching him. He draws his profile with a neat stroke and immediately adds the detail of his mole. He draws his eyes and insists on the dark circles under them, giving him a frowned expression. He smiles when he sees him explaining the ingredients of the _lasagne_ , while he struggles to remember the word “nutmeg”.

He writes down the order and then reaches the kitchen again. Yusuf goes back to his sketch, adding the shades on Nicky’s face. When he sees the other guy coming out of the kitchen and aiming at his direction, he closes the book and puts it in the corner.

«Your starter: a selection of cheese coupled with the finest _mostarda_ , _signore_ » he serves him with a small bow, that Yusuf interprets as mocking. He tries one of the slices of cheese and they are good, but nothing special. The restaurant itself looks like a tourist trap, judging by the stereotypical table clothes, the music in the background, and the spelling mistakes in the menu that even he, with his basic knowledge of Italian, spotted. So, while staring at Nicky bringing the starters to the other table, he wonders why he keeps working in a place like this.

About twenty minutes later, Nicky comes back with his _gnocchi_. He stares at Yusuf, waiting for him to taste one. Yusuf puts one in his mouth and−

«It tastes like paper,» he says. «I mean, the sauce is fine, but the _gnocchi_ tastes like nothing. Nothing compared to those you cooked some weeks ago.»

Nicky smiles: «I told the cook I don’t know how many times to change the recipe, but he’s too stubborn.»

«I don’t get why you are working as a waiter instead of cooking. I bet my ass you would do so much better.»

Nicky laughs and turns his head: «Probably, but the cook is the son-in-law of the owners, and also this is supposed to be only an easy job to make some money.»

The bell at the entrance jingles and Nicky turns to face the new clients, a man and a woman. Yusuf peeks from above Nicky’s shoulder and freezes.

_No, this can’t be true. This is a nightmare._

Nicky immediately notices his mood shift and frowns: «Everything’s good?»

«Mh, no» he admits. He feels his heart racing in his chest and he grips the table cloth, instinctively.

Nicky turns again, facing the two clients who just entered, then he asks: «Yusuf, who are those people?»

«He is Robert, one of my old flatmates.» He takes a deep breath. «He was… I think he was the worst. At first, he was only making jokes and if I tried to reply and make him notice that those were offensive he would laugh and tell me that I shouldn’t take things seriously. Then he started calling me names, first behind my back, then in my face. And then the pranks…» He realizes how much those memories still hurt, how much he had to deal with.

He sees Nicky’s knuckles go white while he holds his fist. He’s clearly about to say something when the lady at the counter calls him. He bits his lips: «I have to go. I promise I will be back.» Before leaving, Nicky touches his hand. It is barely a caress, but for a moment he feels Nicky’s gentle touch and he holds his breath.

He watches him as he reaches the couple. He greets them politely and gives them the menus. Robert says something that makes the girl laugh and he can see Nicky rolling his eyes. Then, Nicky comes back to him.

«How do you feel?» he asks.

«Weird» he admits. «I thought I was over it. I thought I could at least be brave enough to go there and tell him on his face what I think. But I can’t, not yet.»

Nicky nods and says: «I’ll take care of it.»

It takes a second for Yusuf to wrap his head around what the other just said. «Wait, Nicky, no! Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want you to lose your job for a dickhead.»

«Don’t worry» he says and then he smiles. «Have a little faith in me.» And then Nicky’s smile turns into a smirk that Yusuf has never seen him wearing.

He goes back to Robert and takes their order. While heading to the counter, he turns to Yusuf and holds his gaze for a second. He waits patiently until the owner hands him a bottle of wine and then heads back to the table.

Yusuf stares at the scene, nervously. He doesn’t want Nicky to expose himself and risk losing the job, but at the same time, he is curious about what the other guy has in mind. He stares at Nicky while he pours the wine in the girl’s glass first and then in Robert’s.

Everything happens in a moment. And if Yusuf didn’t know that Nicky was up to something, he wouldn’t have thought that it was done on purpose. He sees Nicky picking up the menus from the table and hitting the glass of red wine with them, spilling it on Robert’s clean shirt.

The reaction is immediate. Robert jumps on his chair: «Fuck!»

Nicky wears his best angelic face while saying: «Oh my god, I’m so sorry.»

«You moron, look at what you’ve done» he shouts.

«I’m desolated. Please, let me help you» he says, taking the napkin and using it to spread the stain on the shirt even more.

«Stop! Leave it!» he yells.

The girl with him remains awkwardly in silence, while he keeps swearing.

Nicky addresses him to the bathroom before going back to the counter. The owner doesn’t look pleased and shouts at Nicky but, after some moments, she just shrugs and Nicky sighs in relief. He reaches Yusuf with the same smirk on his face.

«Nicky, are you crazy? Was the owner mad at you?»

He shrugs: «Just a bit, but she didn’t fire me. And even if she did, I wouldn’t care. As I said, it’s not exactly my dream job.»

Yusuf smiles: «That was… incredibly satisfying.»

«It was a pleasure,» he says. «And if you go to the bathroom now, you can have your revenge.»

After Nicky leaves, Yusuf brings his hand to his chest and feels his heart beating fast. But he’s not afraid. Not anymore. He stands from his chair, aiming at the bathroom.

When he opens the door, Richard is in front of the mirror in his undershirt, trying to wash away the wine stain from the shirt. He sees Yusuf in the mirror and turns suddenly to face him.

Yusuf pretends to be surprised: «Oh, Richard.»

«Joe? I haven’t seen you in−»

«A month and a half. Since I had to move out because you were being a dick.»

Richard is left speechless for a moment. He wasn’t expecting Yusuf to call him out, not in such a direct way. He tries to dodge: «Oh, come on! We didn’t ask you to move out, you just couldn’t stand a joke.»

«A _joke_? You made everything in your power to make me uncomfortable. You called me names, behind my back and in my face, you made fun of my culture and my religion. And as if that wasn’t enough, you added the pranks. So my question is: were you so blind to not understand how much you hurt me, or you simply didn’t care?»

«I thought−» He stops and lower his gaze, staring at his stained shirt. «What do you want from me? An apology?»

«I don’t give a shit about your apologies, because you are a little man, Robert. I just want you to know that.» He holds his gaze and Roberts tries to reciprocate but he misses the words and remains silent. Then he puts back his shirt and leaves the bathroom.

Yusuf takes a deep breath and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He feels the weight that he has been carrying for months slowly melting.

When he leaves the bathroom, Robert is gone.

«I still can’t believe you did it,» he says, laughing, when they leave the restaurant, at eleven. «You could have lost your job.»

«Yeah, good luck finding another waiter during the Easter holidays. No, they wouldn’t fire me. Plus, I’m the only Italian thing in that place» he says.

«Why did you do that?» asks Yusuf.

Nicky shrugs and turns his face: «He was mean to you. And I wanted some kind of revenge. It was cathartic.» Again, his smile is bittersweet. Yusuf has to stop himself from touching his face and caressing the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

When they arrive home, they crumble on the couch. Yusuf feels light, as he hasn’t been in months, maybe years. He doesn’t know what it feels like to be tipsy, but he guesses that it must be something like that.

«Thank you for the night,» says Yusuf, from the other side of the couch. «And thank you for your little help. I had that pebble in the shoe since I left that house. At the time, I wasn’t able to say anything, I just packed my stuff and moved. And even though I’m happy to be here, with you and Booker and the girls, part of me is still angry because, in the end, I was the one who had to move, while they kept going on with their lives.» He stops and shakes his head: «I’m sorry, I’m ranting.»

«Don’t apologize. What they did was unfair and mean, you have all the rights to complain. I’m glad you shared your thoughts with me. I’m glad you trusted me.»

Despite them sitting on the opposite sides, their feet are touching on the couch. And for the first time, Yusuf sees a breach in the wall that Nicky built around himself. A small window in between the bricks of his soul and from that crack he could see the light, a dim light, but incredibly warm.

«Listen, I know that this is none of my business, but I have to ask you: what happened with your family? Because you don’t seem to hate them, but at the same time it is clear that there are issues» he says, and he immediately regrets asking that question. He has been way too pushy, and he’s afraid that Nicky would withdraw, closing that window that for a moment was open.

And Nicky flinches for a second and bits his lips. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. « _Issues_ is an understatement.»

«I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.»

«No,» says Nicky. «It’s okay. I never shared my story with the others because I didn’t want them to pity me. But you saw me in a very miserable moment and you didn’t treat me differently, and I’m thankful for that.»

«I would never treat you differently.»

Nicky nods and swallow. «As you know, I come from a big family. We have always lived in a small village by the sea, where everyone knows everyone, where the lines between “private” and “public” are quite blurred. When I was a child, it wasn't a problem. Actually, I liked this dimension. I remember playing with other kids on the streets unsupervised in the fields, running through the streets, or taking a bath in the sea. I remember spending the afternoons in the back of my parents’ shop, doing my homework while eavesdropping on every client gossiping with my mom. Everyone knew me and my family and my brothers and sisters. It was like the whole village was a sort of family.

«Then I started high school. There weren’t high schools in my village, nor in the neighbor ones, so I naturally had to go to Genova, as my siblings did before me. I was quite good at school and my parents decided to send me to a high school in the city center. I felt so lost. All my classmates were the sons and daughters of doctors, lawyers, professors and I was the son of two shopkeepers that could barely speak good Italian, let alone have a university degree. Most of them were living in the city center or in the near outskirt of the city, while I had to commute nearly one hour every day. So, I was so happy when, during my second year, Stefano moved in my class.»

Nicky stops for a second. Yusuf can immediately tell, from the way Nicky pronounced that name, that Stefano was something more than just a classmate and he immediately thinks about Kamal. He wonders if their story is someway similar.

«I knew him because he was coming from the same village. His father owned a hotel nearby, where half of the village was working as waiters or porters or cleaning ladies. We used to play together as kids, before his father sent him to a private school, and remembered me from that time. He was just as lost as me, and we soon became friends. Every morning we were taking the bus together, chatting endlessly. I used to wake up at five, every morning, but I didn’t care because I knew that I was going to spend my time with him. We started spending more and more time together. I remember the afternoons after school, when we were studying in the back of my parents’ shop or in the backyard of his father’s hotel.

«At first, his father was not exactly enthusiastic about him spending time with me. I was just the son of two shopkeepers, in the end, and he was surely hoping for his son to befriend someone more at his level, if you know what I mean.»

Yusuf twitches his lips in a grimace.

«But in the end, he accepted me. Stefano’s grades were good and he was happy, so his father started being nice to me. My parents were also happy about our friendship. Stefano’s father was their most important client, their shops were basically surviving thanks to his commissions and God only knows how much they needed that money. He also hired one of my brothers to work at his hotel. We were happy, we really were. But in my heart, I knew that there was something more. I knew that my feelings for him were way beyond the simple “friendship” but I couldn’t dare to ask for more.

«It was him who dared, in the end. We were studying together, I was helping him translating a particularly difficult line from the Aeneid and I remember his hand on mine. I can almost still feel his gentle touch. I turned to face him and he kissed me. That was my first kiss. I cannot describe the sheer joy I was feeling in my chest. Still, up to now, this is probably my happiest memory. We knew we had to keep it a secret, but we were sixteen and we felt like we were invincible. We were already planning of living together after high school, to move to Milan for the University, share an apartment, living our lives openly. We were so naive.»

Yusuf holds his breath, almost knowing what was about to come.

«We were eighteen and, well, the hormones had taken our common sense. Stefano said that we could use one of the empty rooms of his father’s hotel and I accepted, because I wanted it so badly. And we were… well, not even in the middle of anything when his father found us. We had just undressed and we had barely touched each other, but it was quite evident what was going on. It was impossible to deny it. His father barely gave me the time to dress and threw me out.»

He stops talking and he’s almost shaking. Yusuf places his hand on his knee, instinctively, and that brief contact seems to partially calm him.

«I went back home and I hid in my room, thinking that his father would pretend that nothing happened. But that night, while I was having dinner with my parents and my siblings, we heard someone knocking violently at our door. It was Stefano’s father, and Stefano was with him. They came in and the man told my parents what happened. But he distorted his version, saying that I had seduced his son and pushed him into, what did he say?, _sinful activities_. He said that I was dangerous for our community, that if I did this to his son, I could do it again, with other guys. My parents didn’t know, didn’t even _suspect_ I was gay and they saw their world crumbling in front of them.

«I tried to deny it, to say that I never seduced anyone, that Stefano and I were in love. And I asked him to tell them, to tell them that we were in love. But he denied it. He said that I pushed him into our relationship, that I was the one suggesting to use the room, the one that wanted it. I felt like dying. He didn’t even have the courage to look at me in the eyes, he lied while staring at his feet.»

«Oh, Nicky» he murmured.

«Anyway, his father said that I needed to be re-educated, that if I wanted to keep living in our village I had to change, to be cured. He said that he had talked to the priest of our church and that he would have helped me in my “path through redemption”, or something like this. And he made it clear that, if I didn’t, if we tried to fight back, he would have ruined our life. He owned half of the village, he had all the power to do so and he knew.»

«Tell me that you didn’t do it. Tell me that you didn’t accept.»

«I did, of course. I did it for my family. I started going to the church, every afternoon. The priest had always known me, he was the one who baptized me and all my siblings. At first, he told me that I was young and confused and that I would have changed my mind, that I would have learned to like girls, as I was supposed to do. I even tried to date some girls, but I felt it was wrong and I didn’t want to hurt them. So, the priest told me that sometimes, when you can’t get rid of those feelings, you have to resist them. He said that it was the devil tempting me, that I had to be strong. That what mattered was my actions, that if I didn’t sin I could be forgiven. And in my heart, I thought that I could do it, that I could live my life suppressing those feelings, that I could do it for my family, for their reputation.

«Which is why I joined the seminar. I thought that if I dedicated my life to God, I could repress my feelings. The priest was so happy when I declared my intentions. My family was worried, especially my sisters, but I said that I was sure, that that was my destiny.» He stops and laughs, bitterly. «I lasted six months. I spent those six months repressing my feelings, trying to convince myself that I could be normal, that I could be worthy again. But that hunger that I felt was still there, and I could feel it every night. And when my family came to visit me, I realized that I couldn’t make it, that that life wasn’t for me.

«My last year of school was a nightmare. Stefano had moved to another school and I was alone again. I focused on my studies and I graduated in time. The night of my graduation, my parents sat in front of me and told me that it was better for me to move out.»

«Did they kick you out?»

«Not exactly. They didn’t send me away because they didn’t love me. They did it because they knew I couldn’t be happy, not in that place, not in that house. They told me that if I wanted, I could have stayed, as long as I acted “normal”.»

«I hate how you say it. “Normal”. As if you really think it.»

«I used to, at that time. I used to think that there was something wrong with me. I remember I used to think: why me? Why can’t I be just like my brothers? Why do I have to be like this? I was sad and lonely. And it was at that moment that realized that I needed a change.

«So I moved out. I spent the summer of my graduation at my oldest sister’s house in Genova, babysitting my nephews, and studying. But Genova was still too close and while living under my sister’s roof I felt like I wasn’t free. So I moved to Rome and it was a new beginning.»

He smiles, thinking back at those days. «Let me tell you, Italy may not be the most open-minded country, but it is not difficult for a nineteen years old gay student to explore his sexuality in a big city. I wasn’t confused anymore, I knew exactly what I wanted and I knew where to find it. I started going to gay bars and I felt myself for the first time. I met new people, I discovered that there was so much more than simply gay or straight. I understood how limited my education had been, how little I knew of the word. But every time I was going back home, it was as if nothing had changed. If I tried to talk about my new friends, my parents changed subjects. They didn’t want to know about my new life. They preferred to be blind and deaf. It was at that moment that I decided that I needed to separate those two lives. It was at that moment that I started using “Nicky” as a nickname. For my parents, I was Nicolò, for my brothers and sisters I was Nico. But Nicky was the name I was using when I was being true to myself.

«And most of the time I can manage to separate Nicolò from Nicky. I used to live my life when I was in Rome, as I do here in London, a life that my parents will never know. And whenever I go back it’s easy, I just need to “pause” Nicky for a week or two, I spend the time with my family, and believe me or not, I am happy. When I come home, my mom still cooks my favorite dish, my dad still spends time with me and asks me about my studies. My brothers and sisters invite me for dinner and they let me spend time with my nephews and nieces. I’m still their son, their brother, their uncle. They still love me, they just don’t understand me. And I know they are trying, especially my siblings, and some days it’s better than others. Some days I think they are getting there, some days it feels like they had gone back.»

«So, this is what happened a few weeks ago? When you decided not to go back.»

«Yeah» he murmurs. «Apparently, Stefano is getting married these days.»

«He’s getting married to−?»

«A woman. Not that there are any alternatives in Italy. Apparently, his father had a talk with my parents, saying that he would prefer me to be as far away as possible. Maybe he’s afraid that I would _seduce_ him again» he says, rolling his eyes.

«This is bullshit» shouts Yusuf. «I can’t− I can’t believe they are doing this to you.»

«It’s not the first time, nor it will be the last. I’m used to it, by now.»

«But you shouldn’t. You deserve so much better. You are kind and sweet and you deserve the world.»

«I wish I could believe you,» he says.

In hindsight, Yusuf should have expected his reaction. In hindsight, Yusuf would have acted differently, maybe. Or maybe not. Because every decision he made in the last months, has led him to that precise moment, to him sitting on the same couch as Nicky. To him leaning towards the other guy, cupping his hands on his face and kissing him.

Time slows down, as Yusuf caresses his cheeks and feels Nicky’s lips opening. He can feel Nicky’s body moving toward him and one of his hands landing to his knee. He has spent weeks dreaming about that moment, wondering how would it feel to kiss him, to touch him, to have him.

But then, suddenly, Nicky withdraws. His face looks debauched, as he was clearly invested in the kiss, but his eyes wander around, not daring to hold Yusuf’s gaze. And for a second Yusuf thinks: _He didn’t feel the same. He didn’t want it._

«Nicky, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t−»

«I− I’m sorry,» he stutters, jumping from the couch.

«Nicky, wait!» he says, trying to reach him.

But Nicky is faster. He takes his jacket and flies out of the door, closing it right behind him. For a moment, Yusuf considers the idea of running after him and stopping him, but then he stops. He has no right to do so.

He kissed Nicky without asking him first and, judging by his reaction, maybe Nicky didn’t feel the same as he did. Maybe he has misunderstood the signals. He feels his head going numb, as he crumbles back into the couch.

«What have I done?» he murmurs, holding his head in his hands.

_I ruined everything. There’s no turning back from here. He won’t be able to look at me in the eyes anymore, I won’t be able to talk to him ever again. I will have to move out. Again._

Then he reaches for his phone and, careless about the hour, he starts the call. It takes about twenty seconds for the other to pick up.

« _Halo_?»

«Booker, I made a mess.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not Wednesday, but I felt like publishing the chapter so here I am.  
> I hope Nicky's backstory didn't disappoint you, and that it answered some questions about his relationship with his family and his fear of commitment. 
> 
> I want to thank the sweet AryaTred for her [ beautiful fanart](https://www.deviantart.com/arya-tred/art/And-a-wall-between-us-part-I-858906672) about my fanfiction. I'm speechless (and yet here I am, screaming)
> 
> I'm currently writing chapter 6 and it's tough, but I promise, I won't make you suffer much longer (also because there are only two chapters left and I promised you a happy ending)


	6. Nicky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Yusuf meets Nicolò

**Chapter six:**

**Nicky**

**Six weeks before**

Sébastien’s message arrives while he’s in class. He raises his eyes from his notes and gives a quick peek at his phone: “I met the new guy.”

Nicky unlocks the screen and stares at the message. He knows that he shouldn’t get distracted, but curiosity wins and he writes: “How’s he?”

He waits some minutes for the following message. “He’s very nice, I already like him. But he’s in a rush. He would like to move as soon as possible. Can you make it tonight? I think it would be better if you meet him before he signs the contract.”

Nicky bits his lips and writes: “This week is a mess, I can’t make it. But I trust your judgment. Why so in a rush?”

This time it takes nearly ten minutes for the other to replies. Nicky can see that Sébastien has written and deleted the message several times before sending it. “He had issues with the previous flatmates. From what I understood, they were being racist because he’s from Tunisia and he’s Muslim. He really wants to move out and I want to help him. If it’s okay for you, he could move already tonight. He doesn’t feel safe where he is now.”

Nicky stares at the phone, incredulous. Then replies: “Of course. Tell him to move asap. If you say that he seems fine, I trust you.”

This time, the reply is almost immediate: “You trust me? Unbelievable!”

Nicky smiles and turns off his phone. Then the realization hits him and he unlocks the screen, quickly typing: “Wait, I forgot to ask: what’s his name?”

He doesn’t have to wait for the answer.

“Joe.”

**Three weeks before**

Andromache hugs Quỳnh and murmurs something in her ear. The other woman blushes then smiles and turns to kiss Andy, cupping her hand on the other’s jaw. Nicky stares at them, jealous of their intimacy. For a second, only a second, his mind goes back to his adolescence and he can almost see the face of Stefano, the way he used to caress his cheek when they were kissing, how he used to think that he could not live without his gentle touch.

«Is it okay if we leave you alone, Nicky?» asks Quỳnh.

«Nicky is perfectly able to find a good company, my love,» says Andromache, kissing her on the temple and dragging her to the couches. Nicky laughs, as Quỳnh mutters an “I’m sorry”, already too far for Nicky to hear her.

He spots Sébastien at the counter, busy talking with a cute blondie. Then his eyes look for Nile and Yusuf, who are moving to the dance floor. He sighs, wishing he was as bold as Nile, who was always ready to conquer the dance floor, to drag people into things with her contagious smile. Nile has tried so many times to convince him to dance with her, but every time he was feeling like a mannequin, completely inadequate. Nile always tells him that in order to dance you have to let yourself go. Nicky laughs. He knows what happens when he lets himself go

 _It’s hard to dance with a devil on your back_ , he thinks, quoting his dear Florence Welsh in his head. He watches Nile wrapping her fingers around Yusuf’s wrist and pulling him in the dance. He imagines how would it feel to wrap his arm around his waist, to feel that broad chest against his, to rest his chin on his shoulder and have his beard tickling his neck.

 _Cazzo, Nicky, non ora_. He swears mentally, as he feels his hunger growing, from his stomach to his throat. _What are you, sixteen again? Can’t you keep it in your pants for once?_

He finishes his beer in one sip and leaves the glass on the table, before heading outside. He sticks a hand in his pocket and looks frantically for his cigarettes. He hesitates a moment before lighting one.

 _You wanted to quit. Remember? You said that you would change_ , he thinks, staring at the lighter. Then he shrugs and lights his cigarette. He started smoking at the University, during his first winter in Rome. He was far from home and he missed his family. The stress for the exams and for his new life was crushing him. He started for a stupid reason, because one of the guys he slept with had left a package of cigarettes on his nightstand.

He tried to quit so many times, and he almost made it, last year. He had gone six months without smoking one cigarette and then he went back to Italy for the summer holidays and the bad habit came back.

_You have always been weak._

«Ah, I thought that nose looked familiar,» says someone behind him. Nicky turns and immediately recognizes the other guy.

«Ciao, Manu.»

«I saw the girls on the couches and Nile dancing with a pretty guy. She might get lucky, tonight.»

Nicky laughs and answers: «That was Joe, our new flatmate. And he’s gay.»

«Oh, cute!» he comments, grinning. «Have you already slept with him?»

He nearly drops his cigarette. «Manu!» he shouts.

«What? Don’t tell me that you haven’t thought about it.»

Nicky rolls his eyes and says: «It would be inconvenient. I have a long history of guy hating me the morning after.»

«You have a long history of guys falling in love with your big blue eyes, thinking they would wake up to you preparing breakfast for the rest of their life.»

«But not you» he comments, taking a deep breath.

«I know better. And my _chilaquiles_ are superior to your pancakes» he adds, pointing his finger at his chest and Nicky laughs, sincerely.

Being with Manu has always come easy for him. They met during Nicky’s second month in London, during a night at The Guard. That night, Nile tried to drag him to the dance floor, but after one song it was clear that Nicky would only embarrass himself in front of everyone, so he left Nile in the arms of a pretty girl and headed outside. He remembers looking for his cigarettes and hesitating, as always, before lighting it − as always. It was Manu who made the first move, asking him a cigarette. They started talking, asking the general questions, “where are you from?” − he was from Mexico − “when did you arrive in London” − two months ago − “what do you study” − Music − talking about everything and nothing. But to Nicky, it was immediately evident that Manu shared a past similar to his. He recognized the same sad smile that appeared on Manu’s face when he talked about his family.

They didn’t even discuss the possibility of going home together. When Nicky said that it was quite late and that he wanted to go home, Manu went with him. Sex was great, but it wasn’t the reason why, in the following months, he kept going back to him, from time to time. It was because with him he didn’t need to explain, he didn’t need to lie. Manu understood perfectly what it meant to love your family despite everything. To love your family no matter what. Even when your friends think that they don’t deserve your love.

Manu understood. Manu never questioned his choices.

“This must be some catholic bullshit,” said Manu, the morning after their first night together. “Something to do with the cult of the virgin Mary, the holy family, you know. Those things that you think you left behind and instead they stick to you. You think ‘I left my village, I left that closed-minded place, I left that weight behind’ but it’s still there. You are still there. You may climb mountains, cross the ocean, pass the borders, but you are still there, in your godforsaken village, with your grief and your guilt.”

Maybe that was the reason why he knew that he and Manu were not meant together, not in a stable relationship, at least. Because they were too similar to complete each other.

«I don’t think I could give him what he wants,» he says.

«If you give him what you give _me_ I’m sure he won’t complain,» says Manu, receiving a friendly slap on the arm.

«He wants someone who cares about him, he wants to build something. He wants a stable person, someone who is able to commit to a relationship, instead of just fucking around. And I’m not that person.»

«I don’t think you are “not able” to commit. I think you have been able to swim all this time. You are just afraid of the sea.»

Nicky shrugs at his intricate metaphor. «Whatever.»

«But you like him.»

«I don’t.»

«I wasn’t asking,» says Manu, with a smirk. «Nico, Nico, when will you understand that you have no secrets for me?»

«What makes you think that you are right?»

«Because you haven’t kissed me yet,» he says. Nicky grabs him by the shirt and pulls him into a kiss, and Manu doesn’t stop him. They have done it so many times that the feeling of his lips is familiar. But when he closes his eyes, he doesn’t think of kissing Manu. He thinks of other lips, other hair, another chest, another pair of arms. Another pair of eyes. He breaks the kiss.

« _Cazzo_ » he mutters and Manu laughs.

«Told you.»

«This is wrong, this is so wrong» he murmurs. «He’s my flatmate and I always end up screwing things up but I can’t, not this time. Not with him.»

«Or, for once in your life, you could just let it happen» he suggests. Nicky shakes his head and Manu caresses his shoulder, gently. «I’ll offer you a beer. You look like you need one.»

When Manu comes back with two large beers, they change the subject and Nicky is grateful because he needs not to think about Yusuf, at least for one night. He lets Manu talk about his classmates and his professors, while sipping his beer. He doesn’t know how much longer they go on talking, but soon Manu switches to Spanish and he doesn’t correct him.

There is this silent agreement between them that whenever they are tired and a little bit drunk, they just switch back to their original languages. In his year and a half in London, his English has improved but after one beer or two, it is tricky to pronounce certain words and his accent starts to emerge again. When he finishes his beer, he lights another cigarette while Manu tries to finish his story without laughing.

« _No, no, I swear, and he told me−_ » his sentence is left incomplete because he bursts out laughing.

« _Manu, you are drunk_ » he says.

Manu steals the cigarette from his mouth, takes a hit, and blows the smoke into his face. « _This is just an excuse, and we both know it._ » Then he kisses him, playing with the v-neck of his sweater.

_Maybe this is the easiest way to forget him. I can go home with Manu. He already knows how to dance with me. I won’t hurt him and he won’t hurt me and tomorrow I can go back to my normal life, and maybe I will forget about him. I will stop hoping._

But then he feels a pair of eyes on him, a fixed look that weight on his shoulders and he catches him with the corner of his eyes, and he knows it’s him before turning. What he doesn’t know is that he’s not alone.

He looks at the guy in front of Yusuf. He’s tall and good looking, with his shiny watch and his tailored jacket, and he’s close to Yusuf, he’s so close.

_I wish it was me. I wish I was there, in front of you, I wish I could push you against the wall and kiss you, I wish I could feel your hands on me and your chest against mine. I wish I could know what your lips taste like._

« _Oh look, your Joe_ » he comments, before adding « _That guy doesn’t look like someone who’s ready for commitment,_ » loud enough for Yusuf to hear. Nicky hopes that he doesn’t speak Spanish.

« _This doesn’t change anything_ » he answers, in Italian.

He forces himself not to turn again, not to look at him.

_What are you, jealous? He’s not your boyfriend, he’s nothing but a friend to you. You have no right to be jealous. Tonight he can go home with that man and you can go home with Manu and you will both be happy. It’s the easiest option._

But he doesn’t resist and he turns again, just to torture himself with the sight of Yusuf kissing another man, a man that is more handsome, more interesting, more mature than him. A man more suited for him. But when he turns he sees Yusuf talking with the man and shaking his head, before leaving.

As soon as Yusuf disappears in the bar, the other man swears. Manu laughs in his direction and comments: «I bet you thought the night would end up differently.»

«Shut up» groans the other. «Do you think I can’t find someone else? He was just being difficult. He wasn’t worth it.»

Nicky feels the anger growing inside him and Manu’s hand gripping his arm to stop him.

« _No vale la pena, Nico_ » he murmurs. «Let it go.»

The man mutters something, too quietly for them to understand, probably some kind of insult, before going away. Only then Manu lets him go and Nicky shrugs.

«So, what do you want to do?» asks Manu. «Do you go after him?»

Nicky thinks about it for a minute. He can go after him, and then what? What can he say? _Hey, I know we live together but I have a crush on you. And I know you just saw me kissing another guy and I just saw you kissing another man but can we pretend it never happened?_

No, it wouldn’t work. It would never work.

«Your house,» he says and Manu doesn’t complain. They walk together, and Nicky lets Manu cover the silence between them with his crazy stories. When they reach his building he thinks: _They must be home, by now. I wonder what they are doing_ _. If he’s already sleeping. If he’s thinking about tonight._

He follows Manu upstairs but when he opens the door he doesn’t step inside. He remains in the darkness of the staircase landing.

«I can’t do it,» he says.

Manu looks at him surprised and then he smiles. «I’m surprised you made it until here.»

«I can’t have him, but I can’t spend the night with you if I’m thinking about him.»

«Nico, you don’t owe me an explanation. But let me tell you something: stop thinking you don’t deserve good things. Stop thinking you are a bad person. You are not, Nico, I swear. You deserve to be happy» he says, cupping his hands around his face. «Promise me you’ll try to be happy.»

Nicky smiles: «I promise.»

Manu nods and asks: «What are you gonna tell Booker when he sees you coming home so early and alone?»

«I’ll tell him that you were too drunk and that I walked you home and come back,» he says.

«What a gentleman» he comments. Then, before letting him go he asks: «Can we still be friends? Even without the great sex?»

«Of course, Manu» he says. Manu smiles one last time before closing the door. Nicky heads outside, in the cold night of London. He thinks about Manu’s words and feels the weight on his shoulder easing, only a little.

_Oh, what the hell. This time I’m gonna let it happen._

**Two weeks before**

As soon as Elisa’s face appears on the screen, he smiles.

« _Ciao, Eli._ »

« _Ciao, Nico,_ » she says, warmly.

«Where are you?» he asks, trying to catch the background from the poor-quality Skype call.

«I’m at mom’s house. She and dad are outside with the kids.»

«You can thank them for the package. It arrived safe and sound and very full this morning. You can tell mom that I’m good for at least two months, especially since I’ll be home in two weeks.» As soon as he mentioned it, he could see face shifting and a shadow appearing on her smile. «Eli, what is it?»

«Yeah, about that…» She hesitates.

Nicky feels his heart aching in his chest. _Not again. Please, not again._

«Eli, whatever it is, just say it.»

«Stefano is getting married» she finally admits.

It feels like a cold shower and Nicky actually shivers. «Ah.» He bits his lips and manages to ask: «When?» He doesn’t ask who he is marrying. He knows it is a woman, because it can only be a woman.

«After Easter. In the church of our village.»

«Well, congratulations. I guess I’m not invited» he says, with a sarcastic laugh.

«It’s not that simple,» she says. «Lorenzo, his father… he said that you are not welcome.»

«What? Is he afraid that I’m gonna do a dramatic entrance in the middle of the Mass to stop them? Stefano can marry who he wants, for what it concerns me.»

«Nico» she murmurs. She takes a deep breath. «He doesn’t want you around before the wedding. He’s afraid that you can be a “bad influence” for Stefano.»

«What do you mean he doesn’t want me around? What am I supposed to do? Not coming home?»

«No, no,» she says, before adding: «You can come home. Just… after the wedding.»

«The wedding is _after_ Easter, what am I supposed to do? Spending Easter on my own here in London?»

«I− I told mom and dad that you could stay with us, in Genova, and maybe we could spend Easter at my place.»

«Sure, we will only be eighteen people in your small apartment in the city center» he comments, sarcastically.

«Nico…»

«No, Eli, don’t call me “Nico” with that tone. How long are we gonna depend on that man? How long will we let him blackmail us?»

«Nico, you know that Leonardo works for him, and Pietro and Maria have the bar, and if he decides to ruin them…»

«I know, I know everything, I know every single way in which that asshole can screw our lives, thank you very much. I’m just tired to be the one that has to sacrifice for the rest of the family.»

He knows what his sister is about to say. And nevertheless, when she says it, it still hurts.

«It’s different for you. You don’t have kids. You don’t live here. You have your life, in London.»

«I wonder why» he comments. «I wonder why I had to move, first to Rome and then to London. I cannot come home without first asking the fucking _permission_ to that asshole.»

«After what happened−»

«We were teenagers, Eli! We were kids and we weren’t doing anything wrong. How many times do you want to rub it in my face?»

Elisa sighs, heavily, and murmurs: «I wish we could just go back and change the past. I wish it didn’t happen.»

«You know what is the problem, Eli? That even if we could go back and change the past, I would still be gay. And this is not going to change. Believe me, I tried, God knows how much I tried to be _normal_ , to be how you wanted me to be, but I can’t. I can’t change who I am and I’m so fucking tired of being ashamed. I’m tired of carrying this guilt on my shoulders, of feeling _wrong_ every time that I talk with you.» He doesn’t notice the tears until he feels them running down his cheek.

He hears a voice coming from his sister’s end. «Mamma, is that uncle Nico? Can I say hi?» He recognizes the voice of Anna, his niece, but he doesn’t want her to see him like this. She is too young to fully understand the issues of their family, and he doesn’t want her to suffer because of it.

He wipes his tears from his eyes and attempts a smile. «Hey, monkey, how are you?»

«Hi, _zio_! Did you like my last drawing?»

«It was beautiful, honey. I already put it on the wall in front of my desk» he says.

«Are you coming home for Easter?»

He swallows, and says: «No, I can’t make it.»

«How come? I miss you!»

«I miss you so much.» He sniffles, trying to refrain the tears. «I have to go now. I will call you another time. Ciao.» He shouts down the call and then he covers his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of the sob. He feels the tears running on his face and he wipes them away with his sleeve.

_Come on, Nicky, it’s not worth it. You are stronger than this._

He has nearly managed to calm himself when he hears a gentle knock at the door. He petrifies, incapable of saying anything.

_Oh no. Please, let it be Booker. Or Nile, or Andy, or Quỳnh. Anyone else, but not him._

The door opens slowly and after endless seconds, he sees Yusuf’s face peeking from behind.

 _Of course, it’s him_ , he thinks and snorts. It is unlikely that he didn’t notice the redness of his eyes but nevertheless he avoids his gaze, staring at the wall.

«Nicky, is everything okay?»

_It is not okay. Everything is shitty but if I try to explain I will cry and the last thing that I want is your pity._

He puts on a fake smile and says: «Yeah, sure.»

But Yusuf knows him better than this. He can read inside his soul as easily as he reads his books. «Nicky, you know you can tell me what’s wrong.»

And for a moment, Nicky considers the idea of telling him everything, of opening his heart completely, and crying in his arms. And just letting it go. He opens his mouth and takes a breath, but then he sighs and lowers his gaze.

_It is my weight to carry. He has his problems and he doesn’t need to take care of mine. I can’t ask him to hold me when I’m like a stone that drags everything in the abyss._

«I’m sorry, I have to go. My shift is about to begin.» It is false. He knows it and Yusuf knows it, but he doesn’t stop him. He takes his jacket and leaves.

He arrives at the restaurant twenty minutes before the beginning of his shift. His hands look automatically into his pockets, where they find the cigarettes. He doesn’t even hesitate, this time, before lighting the first.

**Five days before**

Nicky wakes up, slowly emerging from his slumber. He checks the phone on his nightstand: seven a.m. More than a week has passed since his fight with Sébastien. More than a week since he decided that he needed to stop before he risked hurting Yusuf.

He turns and stares at the wall that stands between them, the wall that, days after days, has become something more than just a pile of bricks.

Since their first meeting, he knew that they were different. Sure, they were from different countries, and then there was the religion and the culture, but that wasn’t what worried him. It was immediately clear that the educations that they received couldn’t be more different.

Yusuf’s parents were professors, both of them highly educated, and they passed their knowledge and their open-mindedness to their son. Yusuf was clever, cultured, open-minded. He could spend hours listening to him discussing literature or art. Nicky has seen his drawings and, despite being quite ignorant about art, his talent was indisputable. Yusuf was also a kind heart. It took him about a week to reach the level of easiness and intimacy with the others that part of him still craved.

Nicky was very different from Yusuf. He grew up in a small village with a small-village mentality. First when he started high school in Genova and after he moved to Rome for University, a brand new world opened in front of him. For the first time in his life, he met people so different from him, and he realized how blind, how ignorant he still was. He started to expand his readings and to hang out with different people, trying to educate himself, to learn, to improve. And after moving to London, he didn’t stop, and living with people so different from him surely helped. And then Yusuf came.

Yusuf, in some way, reminds him of the sun. His presence is warm and soothing, and reminds him of those days, in his childhood, when he used to spend the afternoon by the sea, when nothing was wrong in his life and he was lighter and happier. Spending time with him is easy, almost addictive. In the last month, every time that coming home after his shift, he found Yusuf waiting for him in the kitchen, his heart was filled with joy.

In that sense, Nicky was more like the moon. Pretty and shiny in the eyes of the most, but hiding a dark side that he wasn’t ready to share. Even after one year and a half with Booker and the girls, he didn’t feel confident enough to share some aspects of his file.

But during the nights that he spent with Yusuf, sitting in their kitchen and talking about their lives, he often thought that maybe he could open up with him. He felt a sort of special connection. The last time he felt such kind of connection, it was with Stefano.

_Yusuf is different. Yusuf is not scared of what his parents or our friends would think of him. Yusuf is not hiding behind a lie. He is open and kind. He is different._

But something was still keeping him from admitting his feelings.

_I’m not there yet. I still have issues, with my family and with myself. The same issues that made me ruin every possible relationship in the last five years. I can’t pull him into this. Sébastien is right, he doesn’t deserve this, I can’t make him suffer, I can’t play with his heart, not after everything he has been through._

While the house is still silent, he leaves his room and reaches the bathroom. Then, after a quick breakfast, he goes back to his room and opens his computer, in a hopeless attempt to work on his essay.

His eyes end up on the drawing of his niece, hanging next to the photo of his family. He stares at their smiling faces. The photo was taken the day of his graduation, in Rome. He remembers his whole family coming, the slight embarrassment of his mom and dad meeting his friends for the first time, his sisters taking him apart to ask if one of the guys was his boyfriend, his brothers attempting to read his thesis and giving up after the second page.

He remembers going back home, to Genova, and telling his parents that he wanted to move to London for the Master. He remembers the Skype call, that night, with Booker, Lykon, and the girls. That day he realized that London was becoming his new home and that bunch of weirdos he was living with his new family. That day he realized there was an alternative, a new life waiting for him.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the creaking mattress, in the other room. The wall between them is so thin that it feels almost like Yusuf is in the same room and Nicky, instinctively, turns, looking for him.

But Yusuf is not there. Yusuf is beyond that wall, waiting in silence.

**One day before**

Nicky leaves the restaurant later than usual. He takes a fast pace, holding himself in his light jacket. His hands fall in the pockets of the jacket, looking for the cigarettes, only to find the package empty. He swears and rolls his eyes.

He checks his phone: one lost call from his sister and another message. She has been trying to contact him since their last call, about two weeks before, but he has been ignoring her on purpose. He has been ignoring his whole family, to be honest. He needed some time alone.

When he arrives home, he opens the door carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. He expects to find the living room empty, as well as the kitchen, but he immediately notices that the tv is still on.

He comes close, looking for the remote control to turn it off, when he sees him. Yusuf is quietly sleeping on the couch, with his sketchbook still in his hands.

Nicky has to hold his breath because that image is too soft, too beautiful, and his heart almost aches. He notices that some pages of the sketchbook are badly folded and he bents to take it from his hands. He tries to be as delicate as possible, but as soon as he moves the sketchbook, Yusuf opens his eyes, and he jumps. Nicky does the same, stepping aside.

«I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to put your sketchbook somewhere safe» he says.

Only then Yusuf notices the sketchbook and swears. As he tries to sit up straight, the book falls open on the rug and Nicky picks it up. When he turns it to give it back to Yusuf, he sees the drawing and blushes.

It’s a sketch of him, sleeping in the armchair, probably from the night where they watched football together – well, Booker and Yusuf watched football and he shamelessly fell asleep.

«You are really talented,» he says, handing him the book.

He can’t help but smile: Yusuf’s presence has this power on him. Even after weeks of silence and distance, it takes a moment to go back to the intimacy that they have slowly built in the past month.

And he knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t get too close to the sun, but Yusuf’s warm smile is irresistible and he can’t help but invite him to the restaurant.

_Maybe we can be just friends. Maybe I can stay close to him without getting burned._

«I’m sorry if I’ve been distant these days. I was… dealing with some personal stuff.» It was difficult to apologize without making it seems weird.

«Same. But I’m glad you are back,» says Yusuf, and then he immediately blushes. «I mean-»

I know what you mean, he thinks. «I’m back» he confirms.

That night, when they go to sleep, after Yusuf closes the door of his room, Nicky remains on the threshold for a moment, hesitating and hoping.

**That night**

It happens in a moment. First, he’s opening his heart to Yusuf, revealing his past for the first time in his life. He hasn’t shared that story with anyone, not with his friends from Rome, not with Booker or Lykon or the girls, neither with Manu. And the second after, he sees Yusuf coming closer to him, and time slows down at the point that he manage to think: _it’s happening._

_I can stop him, if I want. I can prevent this from happening._

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t withdraw, he doesn’t stop him. Instead, he leans towards him and when their lips crush together he closes his eyes and his heart is filled with a joy that he hasn’t felt for such a long time.

When he feels Yusuf’s hand touching him, he wants to have him closer, he wants so bad to pull him and hold him, he wants them to remain on that couch forever, he wants that kiss to never end.

But then he feels a distinctive feeling creeping out from his chest and gripping his heart. And his mind goes back to his first kiss.

He remembers Stefano’s body leaning towards him, his weight against the chest, his hands on his shoulder and neck, and the same feeling of joy and relief. And then the memory of their afternoon in the hotel room, Stefano’s father opening the door, the way he was yelling at him. The feeling of fear and shame, when he dressed and run away.

And suddenly his heart is filled with fear. He leans back and breaks the kisses. He encounters Yusuf’s eyes for a moment but immediately turns his face, incapable of holding his gaze.

He sees Yusuf’s terrified look while he murmurs: «Nicky, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t−»

«I− I’m sorry» he stutters and jumps from the couch.

«Nicky, wait!» says Yusuf, trying to stop him, but Nicky is faster. He grabs his jacket and heads outside, shutting the door behind him.

Yusuf doesn’t follow.

He runs. Out of the building and in the streets. He breathes deeply and keeps running. He doesn’t even have a place in his mind, his legs just keep running until he can’t anymore and then he stops and looks around.

 _Cazzo. Cazzocazzocazzo_ , he swears, first in his head and then out loud. _I ran away. He kissed me and I ran away like a fool. I’m an idiot. I’m a complete idiot!_

What can he do? He can’t go back, not right now, not until he has cleared his mind. He takes a deep breath and starts to walk. The cold air of London slowly clears his mind and his heart goes back to a normal pace.

 _He kissed me_ , he thinks. _I told him about my ugly past, and he kissed me because, presumably, he likes me, but maybe he just pitied me. Maybe he just saw that I was sad and wanted to cheer me up._ He smacks a hand in his face. _Cheer you up? Seriously, Nico?_

Suddenly, sadness takes over and he stops walking in the middle of the street. A group of teenagers passes next to him, chatting about their day and laughing together. He follows them with the eyes as they turn the corner and disappear. He has never felt so alone in his life.

He needs someone. Someone he can talk to, someone who can listen to him. His first thought is Manu. But then he shakes his head. He can’t go to his… lover? Friend with benefit? Guy he fucked too many times to define him a “one-night stand”? Well, he can’t go to him to ask for help with the guy he’s madly in love with.

_Madly in love? What are you, a teenager?_

There is Sébastien. Sébastien knows both of them, he has seen them dancing around each other the whole time, he has understood Nicky’s feeling before he did.

But Sébastien would yell at him. It’s true, maybe he wasn’t the one who initiated the kiss, but he was the one who invited Yusuf to the restaurant and flirted with him the whole time. And he was the one that ran away, without giving Yusuf the possibility of explaining.

No, Sébastien is not a valid option.

There’s Andromache, of course. Andromache and Quynh. Andromache and Quynh who, at that exact moment, are either having amazing sex in a queen-size bed in Seville or sleeping after having had amazing sex in a queen-size bed in Seville. No, he can’t call them, they already have their shit to deal with.

There would be Nile, sweet Nile. Who wanted to set them up since the day she saw Yusuf. She would tell him to go back and kiss him.

He takes his phone from the pocket of the jeans and unlocks the screen. He stares at it for a minute, then he sighs. He knows exactly who he should call. He starts the call and waits for the other person to answer.

It takes nearly one minute. Then, he hears the tired voice of Elisa answering.

«Nicolò?»

«Ciao, Elisa.»

«Nicolò, shit, it’s two a.m. here. What happened?»

«Nothing, I−» he hesitates.

«Nico, are you hurt? Did something happen?»

«No, I’m fine. I just… I needed to talk.»

«Okay, wait a minute.» He can hear a male voice – the voice of his brother-in-law – asking Elisa about the phone call. «It’s Nicolò. Yes, I asked him. Wait, I move to the kitchen, go back to sleep.» Everything goes silent for another minute before she says: «Nicolò, are you still there?»

«I think I fucked up.»

«How about you give me some details? So I can judge it myself,» she asks. «Start from the beginning.»

And Nicky starts from the very first day, from the text message that Sébastien sent him to say that he found a new flatmate. And then he told her about their first meeting, and how they started to get along. He skips the details about Manu and The Guard – he doesn’t need his sister to know about his sexual life more than what is necessary – but talks about the tajine and the accident with the tomato sauce. And then he tells her about their dinner at the restaurant, and their heart-to-heart conversation, and the kiss.

«And then you ran away?»

«I panicked!»

«Oh, Nico!» she moans, snorting. «You like him, don’t you?»

«I do, but I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship. I’m− I’m still dealing with what happened with Stefano and what happened tonight is the proof that I still have to work on it. And Yusuf… he’s too much. He doesn’t deserve someone that is still broken, he doesn’t deserve someone who still hates himself.»

«Nico, listen to me,» she says, firmly. «What happened with Stefano and his father was… honestly, I don’t even know what to say. And none of us, not me nor mom and dad, nor Marta, Leo or Pietro, none of us were there for you. We were ignorant and blind. We let those people hurt you and I will never forgive myself for this. We chose the easiest option, instead of choosing the right one. And the reason why at this moment you are venting on the phone with me instead of being at home with this guy… well, it’s because of how we acted.» She takes a deep breath. «If you were here I would hug you so tight like I used to do when you were a kid, but I’m in Genova, and you are in London. And there’s not much I can do.»

«You are talking to me at – well, now 3 a.m.,» he says, smiling.

«I am. And now you can say that I’m biased because you are my little brother, but I’ll tell you something: you deserve it. You deserve all the love that we weren’t able to give you. You deserve to be with a person that is equal to you, who respects you, who will support you where we weren’t able to. But most of all, you deserve to be happy.»

«But what if I ruin everything? What if I hurt him?»

«I’m not saying you won’t because when two people love each other it can happen. But I think that you should at least give him a chance. You should tell him the truth about how you feel, about your fears, about your limits. And then he can choose. You owe him this.»

He closes his eyes, and for a moment it feels like he’s back at his sister’s place, when he spent the summer in Genova. When they used to spend hours in the kitchen, at night, talking about their lives. When she used to caress his hair and swear “it will get better, Nico”.

«Grazie, Eli» he murmurs.

«You are a good person, Nico. You chose to be good, and you keep choosing every day. And I’m sure that this person, this Yusuf, knows it as well.» He can hear a light sob, at the other end of the phone call, and then a laugh. «Shit, you are making me emotional. Now go home and make it happen.»

He ends the phone call and leans against the bench. In the starless night of London, he can feel the ghosts from his past haunting him, biting his flesh with their sharp teeth and lurking in his chest. And maybe it’s as Manu used to say: you never really leave your village, you never get rid of your past, no matter how far you move.

_But I want to try. I want to try again, with you. I want to take this new path, even if I don’t know where it will lead me. And it will be okay, if you walk with me. It will be okay. I will be okay._

He closes his eyes and breathes the cold air of the night. He finally finds some peace.

_~ * ~ * ~_

Yusuf nervously taps his foot on the floor, while he waits for Booker to answer. He knows that it’s late – and it is even later in Marseille – but his heart is drumming in his chest and he is unable of thinking of a solution.

The sleepy voice of Booker seems so far away: « _Halo_?»

«Booker, I made a mess.»

Few seconds of silence follows. «Shit, Joe, it’s 1 a.m. What happened?»

«I kissed Nicky» he spits out. He waits for the reaction.

«What the fuck, Joe» he moans.

«I know! I just− he was there, and we had this intimate moment and he was sad and−»

«Wait, Joe. Where’s Nicky?»

He hesitates, biting his lips, before admitting: «He ran away.»

«He did _what?_ That piece of shit, wait until I’m back, I’m gonna kick his ass−»

«It’s not his fault. I didn’t ask before kissing him and everything happened so fast. I think I scared him and probably he didn’t want to−»

«Didn’t want to? Joe, for fuck’s sake, that man has been wanting to kiss you since the night you met, probably. Honestly, it was almost embarrassing the way he was flirting with you, all nice and sweet, and then withdrawing like a coward.»

«I heard your conversation, some weeks ago» he admits. «I know I shouldn't have but I was coming home and I heard you talking. And you told him to stop playing around and I thought that maybe, for him, I was just another guy, nothing special» he says.

«Listen, Joe, I’ve known Nicky for one year and a half. Maybe it’s not that much, but enough to notice certain patterns. He is nice, but he has never been _so_ nice to anyone. And since you arrived, I haven’t seen random guys coming out of his room. Heck, he probably hasn’t had sex since you arrived, which means one month and a half. A record for him.»

Yusuf blushes, thinking about the implications of this new piece of information.

«I thought I misinterpreted the signals. I thought he wasn’t interested.»

«Oh, believe me, he’s way too interested. The problem is that he’s not good at relationships and he’s afraid of hurting you. And, to be honest, I’m also worried. I know what he can do, and I don’t want this to happen to you. I don’t want you to fall for him just to watch him screw everything.»

«That’s too late for that,» he says, with a bitter laugh. «I think I started falling in love with him the day I met him.»

He hears Booker swearing in French and then going silent for a moment. «You love him.»

«I think I do.»

«Of course, you do» he sighs, deeply. «Of course you two idiots are in love. I should have seen that coming.»

«What do I do now?»

«If I know Nicky well enough, at this exact moment he’s wandering for the street of London, trying to clear his mind. But he will come back. Well, it’s not like he has other options.»

«So, you’re telling me that I have to wait?»

«Give him some time. Nicky might be a gay disaster, but he’s not a fool. He will do the right thing, eventually.» Yusuf hears a female voice coming from the other end of the call, and Booker speaking softly in French.

«Shit, you’re not alone?»

«I am− well, not alone» murmurs Booker. «Me and Sylvie we… are trying again, I guess.»

«I will leave you alone, then. Well, not alone. In good company, I guess.» _Yusuf, shut up._ «Thank you, Booker. You are a good friend.»

«Try to remember this moment when I’ll be back in London and I’ll have to hear you two fu−» Yusuf ends the phone call before Booker can finish his sentence.

He lies on the couch and snorts, staring at the ceiling. And he waits.

When the door opens, at four in the morning, he jumps. He fell asleep on the couch nearly two hours before, while waiting for Nicky. Nicky, who now is walking towards him. He tries to sit straight and to keep his eyes open, still numb for the few hours of sleep.

«Nicky, I−»

«No, Yusuf, let me explain,» he says. He kneels in front of him and takes his hands: «I apologize for my reaction. I ran away and I didn’t give you the possibility to explain. I guess I needed some time to… well, to deal with it.»

«Nicky, you don’t need to apologize. I kissed you without asking before.»

«But if you asked, I would have said yes. Because I wanted it just as bad as you.»

«Oh.»

Nicky smiles. «I am not an easy person, Yusuf. There’s a part of me that is still ashamed of who I am, a part of me that never really moved past what happened. A part of me is still a teenager terrified by what other people could think of him. A part of me still craves the love and the respect from my family even when they fail me.» He takes a deep breath and squeezes Yusuf’s hands in his. «I am still a work in progress. Every day I try to better myself and some days I manage, some days I think I will never be worthy of you. But I want to try, Yusuf. If you give me a chance, I want to try to be a better person with you.»

Yusuf stares at him, speechless. He holds his gaze and loses himself in those eyes that owned him since the first time they met. And then his eyes lower to his lips and his heart trembles for a moment, when he asks: «Can I kiss you?»

Nicky doesn’t answer. He cups his hands on his jaws and pulls him into a kiss. If their first kiss was shy and hesitant, this second is bold and keen. Yusuf grips his hands on Nicky’s shirt and drags him on the couch with him as their lips keep touching. And as Nicky’s chest presses against his, he can almost feel his heart pounding.

They break their kiss for a second, and Nicky breathes heavily, resting his forehead against Yusuf’s. Yusuf moves his hands on his face, caressing his cheekbones with the tips of his thumb.

«I take that as a “yes”,» he murmurs, and Nicky laughs.

Then he bits his lips and adds: «So, will you give me a chance?»

«I do, Nicky,» he says, holding him close. «I will give us a chance. And if we fail, we will fail together and try again. Maybe we will suffer and we will hurt each other, but you are worth the risk, Nicky. You are so much worth it.»

«Nicolò,» he says, catching Yusuf off guard. «If we want to try this, if we start again, you can call me Nicolò, if you wish.»

«Nicolò» he murmurs, so close to his lips that Nicky can feel the shape of his name on Yusuf’s mouth. «Nice to meet you, Nicolò.»

«Nice to meet you, Yusuf.»

That night, they get lost in each other’s eyes, with their limbs tangled, and their lips pressed together, until they cannot tell where the body of one finishes and the other’s begins.

That night, on the old worn-out couch of their home, there is no wall between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cazzo, Nicky, non ora" (Fuck, Nicky, not now)  
> "No vale la pena" (It's not worth it) 
> 
> I do not recommend listening to "Shake it our" by Florence and The Machine after reading this chapter. Like I did. too many times.  
> Instead, I do recommend giving a look at AryaTred's [ beautiful fanart](https://www.deviantart.com/arya-tred/art/And-a-wall-between-us-part-II-859423573?ga_submit_new=10%3A1603839878) for Chap 1 of this fanfiction.
> 
> So, the fic is nearly done, but I'm not done with these two. After the Epilogue, I plan to publish two small sequels: one about these two dorks discovering the many perks of adult fun time together, and another in two parts where they meet the families. 
> 
> Thanks for reading until here, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
> See you next week for the Epilogue!


	7. The sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When there is nothing left to keep them apart

**Epilogue:**

**The sea**

**August**

Yusuf wakes up with the feeling of a warm body against his chest. He opens his eyes, and, in the dim light of the room, he distinguishes the shape of Nicolò’s neck, his sharp jaw, and his hair against his forehead. He presses the nose against his shoulder and hums against his skin, holding him tighter.

Many months has passed since they moved Yusuf’s bed to Nicolò’s room, that is now _their_ room, but every night he ends up pulling Nicolò’s closer, until he falls asleep with his back against the wall that once separated them and his chest against Nicolò’s body, feeling safe and loved.

He can hear Nicolò’s quiet breath, as the other man is still sleeping. Part of him would like to remain like this the whole day, watching his boyfriend sleeping in the summer morning, but a quick peek at the clock makes him change his mind.

«Nicolò» he murmurs, against his ear. «Nicolò, _destati_.»

He receives a loud disgruntled moan. «I shouldn’t have let you learn Italian from thirteenth-century poetry»

«Well, it seems to work» he comments. Nicolò slowly turns to face him and tangles his arms around his neck.

«You incurable romantic,» he says, smiling. He kisses him on the lips and pulls him closer. Their naked chests rest together, and Yusuf is comforted by the warmness of the other’s body. He feels Nicolò’s hips press against his, pushing him against the mattress. Soon, the contact becomes too much and he breaks the kiss.

«Nico» he moans. «I thought you had enough, last night.»

«Mmh, never» he murmurs against his ear.

«It’s late, we have to−»

«Ten minutes won’t make any difference,» he says, as his hands move from Yusuf’s neck to his hips, playing with the waistband of his boxer. He places a kiss on his neck that makes Yusuf shiver and then he moves further south, leaving a trail of kisses on the other’s body.

They are interrupted by a loud bang against the door.

«You better not be having sex» shouts Booker. «You don’t want to explain to Mrs. al-Kaysani that you lost the flight because you were banging.»

Nicolò snorts and rolls his eyes.

«He’s not wrong,» says Yusuf. «We still have to shower and have breakfast.»

«I’d rather have you for breakfast.»

Yusuf hits him with the pillow. «Nicolò di Genova» he shouts, while the other laughs. «You will be my death» he protests.

«So» he murmurs, his face still too close to Yusuf’s body «is that a no?»

Yusuf sighs and says: «I guess ten minutes won’t make any difference.»

Nicolò grins, with that mischievous smile that Yusuf has learned to love: «Oh, believe me, habibi, they will make all the difference.»

And for ten minutes, Yusuf forgets the time – and his name.

When they emerge from their room, Booker is waiting for them at the kitchen table, shaking his head. Andy and Quỳnh are sharing the same chair while Quỳnh feeds Andy with grapes, and Nile is sitting on the counter.

«Look who just woke up» comments Andy, with a smirk.

«I can’t believe you, guys» comments Booker. «You are literally going on vacation together. Couldn’t you wait until tonight?»

«Oh, shut up, Sébastien. You are going to see Sylvie in a few days, stop complaining» comments Nicolò, taking a cup of coffee.

«Oh, Joe, you were such a good boy, but then you let this filthy Italian corrupt you,» he says, pointing his fork at Nicolò.

«I like being corrupted by this filthy Italian» he replies, stealing another kiss from Nicolò. «Also, we are going to stay at my parents’ house, which doesn’t exactly set the mood.»

«How long are you going to stay?» asks Quỳnh.

«I will stay two weeks, and then I will be at my parents’ for another week and then I’ll be back,» says Nicolò. None of the others asks why they don’t go together to Italy, and for a second Yusuf can spot the sadness appearing in the corner of Nicolò’s eyes. He squeezes his arm, gently, and smiles. Nicolò smiles as well, reading between the lines: “It’s okay. Baby steps.” «And you, Nile, when are you leaving?»

«Tomorrow. I can’t wait to see my family, I miss them so much» she says, giggling. «I can’t wait to go out with my lil bro and have a slice of deep-dish pizza.» Yusuf laughs when he sees Nicolò rolling his eyes and hitching his nose and pull him closer. They have been together for nearly four months, and every day he falls in love with him even more. «Booker? What about you?»

«I will leave for Marseille in three days and I will stay three weeks,» he says, and he can’t help but smile.

«Look at him» comments Nile, laughing. «Our sad French boy is not so sad anymore. All sweet and smiley at the idea of meeting his girlfriend.»

«And what about you?» asks Booker, directed to Andy and Quỳnh.

«We are going to stay here, working on our theses. Our defenses will be in October and still have much work to do» says Quỳnh, turning her face to Andy and leaning to her. «But we can’t wait to have you all back.»

Yusuf smiles at them and realizes that for him it’s the same. In those six months, those people have become for him a sort of family, to the point that, despite being enthusiastic at the idea of visiting his parents, part of him is sad at the idea of parting from them, even if just for a few weeks.

And he will never question the superior beauty of Tunis compared to London, but part of his heart, now, belongs to the gloomy and rainy English capital. Because this city made him and Nicolò meet and, eventually, it brought them together.

Yusuf finds himself thinking about his first year in London, realizing that, all in all, it was not so bad.

On the train for the airport, Yusuf checks on Nicky, who is staring outside of the window. He gets lost, staring at his nose pressed against his hand, at his just-shaven cheeks, at his blue eyes that wander on the landscape. His heart aches for a moment, because he still can’t believe how lucky he is to be able to call the man next to him “his boyfriend”.

The night they first kissed, Nicolò told him that things might not be easy, and he wasn’t wrong. There were nights when Nicolò was in a bad mood and nothing could make him smile, not even Yusuf’s warm embrace. There were nights when Yusuf would wake up from a nightmare and Nicolò would stare at him, holding his hands but incapable of helping. There were nights when the differences between them seemed more important than their similarities, and they felt like the wall that used to separate them was still there, heavy and solid. And probably it was, but day after day they were tearing it down, brick after brick.

Even in the worst days, Yusuf never regretted kissing him, that night of April.

Nicolò turns and sees that Yusuf was staring at him.

«What are you thinking?» he asks.

«I was thinking about our first kiss,» says Yusuf, and Nicolò rolls his eyes and laughs.

«So sappy» he comments.

«And to our second kiss. And the third and the fourth and the fifth…»

«Did you actually count them?»

«Would you try to count the stars in the sky? Or would you get lost in their beauty» he declares, with a smug smile. Nicolò gives a quick check to the people near them and leans to kiss Yusuf. It’s a light and quick kiss, nothing compared to the breathtaking ones that they share during their long nights, but it makes him shiver.

«Add this to the list,» he says, turning again to face the window.

 _I can’t wait to present him to my parents_ , he thinks. He still remembers the day he first mentioned him to his mom. It was two weeks after their first kiss. Caught in the bliss of their newborn love, he completely forgot to call his family and when he did, the predictable scolding arrived.

“Habibi, you better have a good reason for not calling us” she started the call without even greeting him.

“I’m sorry, mama.”

“You promised to call.”

“I know, I know. It’s just that−” he hesitated. “I found someone.”

He remembers the sound of his mom’s quick steps as she probably was running to his father’s studio. “Tell us more.”

“He- he is a boy.”

“Habibi, we _know_ ” said his father. “We probably knew even before you did. We just want you to be happy.”

“And… he’s Christian” he added, more cautiously, while wandering around the house. He heard a small sigh from his mother, before he could add: “Catholic, to be precise.”

“Yusuf, please, have mercy of your old mother” commented his father, laughing.

“Is he British?” asked his mother.

“He’s Italian.”

He heard his father whispering: “See? Could have been worse” and Yusuf snorted.

Then his mother asked: “How is he?”

“He’s a philosophy student, same university, same age. He’s so clever and he likes reading and cooking and he’s so sweet and kind.” He reached the kitchen. Nicolò was preparing the _ragù_ , like the night of their first encounter. When he heard him, he turned and waived with the wooden spoon. “You will love him.”

“I’m sure we will,” said his father. “What’s his name?”

“Nicolò,” he said, catching the attention of the other. Nicolò pointed a finger to his chest, silently asking: ‘are you talking about me?’ and Yusuf just nodded, coming closer to him and tasting the _ragù_ from the spoon.

In those months, his parents never failed to ask about him, every time they called, and he could feel the tenderness of his mother’s voice when she talked about him, as if he was already part of the family.

And, in a certain sense, he is.

A small perturbation makes the plane shake and Nicolò grasps Yusuf’s hand, instinctively. The belt signal turns on, but the hostesses look calm and Yusuf takes the occasion to squeeze his arm. The British tourist sitting next to Yusuf is sleeping, unperturbed, and snoring quite loudly. This normally would annoy him, but he’s too busy reassuring Nicolò to pay attention to him.

« _Tutto bene?_ » he asks. In those four months together, he has started learning Italian and he has discovered that, when Nicolò is anxious, switching to his original language helps him relax. He has also discovered that it has other effects on him, especially on particular occasions, that would be highly inappropriate on a plane.

«I’m… not a fan of airplanes,» he says, breathing deeply.

«Is it all? The plane, I mean» he asks, teasing. «You are not worried about my parents, are you?»

«No, why should I?» he comments, in a sarcastic tone. «They are only two highly educated professors who spoke what? five languages and have published several books and you are their only precious child and I am the mischievous boyfriend that is stealing him from them.»

«Aw, are you planning to steal me?»

«Haven’t I already?» he asks, with a smug smile.

«You have, in so many ways» he murmurs. He looks around and he checks the other passengers. Most of them look like they are British tourists on holidays, but many of them are Tunisian passengers, heading back home. When they want to avoid people eavesdropping on them, Italian is more useful than English and, in that particular case, than Arabic. Yusuf holds his hand tighter and brings it to his lips, kissing the knuckles one by one. «You don’t have to worry, they will love you as much as I do.»

Nicolò pouts while sinking into his seat. «You really think so?»

«Nico, I’ve never been so happy in my life as in these four months, and they know it. Every day, when I wake up next to you, I think of how lucky I am. Every day, when I kiss you, I wish our lips could never part. Every night that I fall asleep close to you, I feel at peace. And every time we make love, when I hold your body and you hold mine, when I look into your eyes, that are of the same color of the Mediterranean Sea, it’s like going back home, somewhere I know I belong.» He observes him while he blushes.

«Teaching you Italian was a mistake» he sighs.

He chuckles while Nicolò slaps him lightly on the shoulder. «Your Arabic is not that bad either.»

«Well, I don’t master languages in four months like _someone_ » he comments, sharply. «But who knows, if you give me time, I might be able to use it against you» he adds, with a smirk.

«Oh, I can’t wait, my love.»

When the belt signal turns off, Nicolò sighs in relief and peeks outside of the window. Yusuf leans forward to see, resting his chest against the other’s shoulder and he stares at the view in front of them. And when Nicolò turns his head, their lips are so close that Yusuf is tempted to kiss them, but he resists. There will be time for this. Tonight, when they are in his room in Tunis, when no one can see them, he will kiss him long and deeply, holding him in his arms. They will cut out the world and all the problems, all the differences, all the thing that separates them will disappear and they will be left alone with their love.

Nicolò places his hand on Yusuf’s and tangles their fingers together. And as the clouds thin out, the sea appears below them, vast and shining.

«It’s beautiful, isn’t it?» asks Nicolò.

«It is» he agrees. «Our sea.»

While the coastline of Tunisia appears under the clouds, Yusuf thinks that the sea that has divided them for their whole life, now belongs to them. And under the sky, there is nothing left to keep them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finished this fic. I'm still processing.
> 
> First of all, I want to thanks again polar [ X](https://alaskandawn.tumblr.com/post/632131699036340224/this-is-for-majestic-for-and-a-wall-between-us-by) and AryaTred [ X](https://www.deviantart.com/arya-tred/art/And-a-wall-between-us-part-I-858906672) [ X](https://www.deviantart.com/arya-tred/art/And-a-wall-between-us-part-II-859423573?ga_submit_new=10%3A1603839878) [ X](https://www.deviantart.com/arya-tred/art/And-a-wall-between-us-part-III-860340740?ga_submit_new=10%3A1604614718) for their beautiful art. 
> 
> Then, I want to thanks all of you that stayed until the very end of this story, all of you that left a comment or reached me to yell at me about these two romantic idiots.
> 
> Finally, if you are not done with this version of Joe and Nicky, I'm happy to remind you that I'm working on some missing scenes, that hopefully I will be able to publish within the next weeks.
> 
> My TOG blog on tumblr is [ immortal-family](https://immortal-family.tumblr.com) (main is [ applepie4](https://applepie4.tumblr.com)).  
> Thank you for reading and, if you want, leave a comment :D


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